Shattering Expectations
by CMW2
Summary: "Ideally, a Presidency lasts 8 years. Ideally, a marriage lasts 50. 8 years of a job, even the highest job in the Land is not worth 42 years of misery...";"What kind of coward was I to marry her and not wait for you to show up...why didn't I meet you sooner..."These two lines will be at the core of my latest AU Olitz fic;Rated for language and spice;7th in my 2013 SSS Project
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Good afternoon, everyone. This plot bunny has been clawing at the inside of my brain for the last few weeks, especially after Fitz gave us the background about how he and Mellie truly met. The dialogue in this prologue came to me in a dream (and if you've been reading my work for since Jump Street, you know that's always a good thing…) and lo and behold. I have no intention of abandoning **_**Road **_**but…yeah. This needs to come out.**

**This here is an AU of just about everything but here's what you need to know: Liv and Fitz are about 8 years apart (21 and 29) respectively, Liv is still into behind the scenes politics, Fitz made a longer career in the Air Force and had been actively avoiding going back to California after his final honorable discharge because he knows full and damned well he'd be forced down the Aisle to Mellie or some other DAR, blueblood with Big Jerry's stamp of approval. During that active avoiding, he ran into Liv and…well, just read.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"Ideally, a Presidency lasts 8 years. Ideally, a marriage lasts 50. 8 years of a job, even the highest job in the Land is not worth 42 years of arranged marriage misery. Besides, if anything, bringing me home has _**improved**_ his chances significantly. Think about it, Senator Grant: the Republican Party has been seen as non-inclusive and an enemy to people of color, particularly the black community. A White Anglo-Saxon Protestant Republican candidate with an African-American wife, an intelligent and attractive African-American wife that he genuinely respects and adores is absolute political gold. Plus, there's the Glass Ceiling angle."

"Glass Ceiling?"

"There has never been an interracial couple in the White House. Ever. Although the ultimate dream is to have a Black, Latino, or Asian _**President**_, I can think of myriads of people who would be ecstatic to have us in there, especially since Fitz is more than capable of being an FDR quality President. Have you ever talked to him about his ideas for reducing the deficit?"

"No."

"Improving and repairing the infrastructure?"

"No."

"Education and Healthcare Reform?"

"No."

"Alternative Energy Prospects and the practical transition to them?"

"No."

"Diplomatic and defensive maneuvers with Taliban controlled and former USSR nations and other potential domestic dangers to this country? No? Jesus Christ, have you actually sat down and had a _**recent **_conversation with him that hasn't immediately degenerated into an argument?!"

"…no."

" Wow...well, I have and so has Cyrus Beene, for that matter. Although they'll inevitably have to be adjusted for realism and to keep the warring factions in DC happy…they're great ideas. _**Needed**_ ideas. Look, I get it. You had a life path for him planned out before you turned on the Barry White record to make him and now, it's pretty much shot to hell. He has rejected your DAR, WASP Republican betrothal in favor of an African American, apolitical, daughter of a funeral parlor owner and a coroner that couldn't even legally drink until 6 months ago. You're angry and that's your prerogative but I'm going to tell you some cold truths right now, Senator: I love your son. He is the love of my life, regardless of whether he is the President of the United States or a janitor. Your son loves me. He doesn't want anyone but me and I don't want anyone but him. We are married. We eloped but we are married. Anyone that tries to destroy that…"

"Are you threatening me, Ms. Pope?"

"It's Mrs. Pope-Grant and I am promising you that if you plot anything else against us, I will not only destroy your reputation and career, I will gleefully destroy _**you**_. My family's livelihood directly involves death and has for over 40 years on both sides. Do not test me on this…**Daddy**."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Good morning, everyone. I guess I'm onto something here. All right, more info: This is set in 2002 (throwing off all sorts of canon ages but I'm not sorry…), I did some tweaking on the ages (21 and 29, now) and like the show, I'm gonna have our heroes get nailed by the Thunderbolt and Cupid's AK-47. Canon Liv and Fitz had barely held out 2 weeks against their attraction before starting to bust lamps (and our Feels) to smithereens and even though I've never personally fallen in love…I'd like to think that it is possible for it to happen fast and actually work out. I don't know. Youthful naivety, maybe? **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**6 Months Earlier**_**…**_

He couldn't look away from her…

"Don't do it, man! She's been like the Red Baron all night!" Jake Ballard advised him over the fast music, sending the rest of their tipsy group into laughter and the rat-a-tat of ammunition.

Like many others in the Indian restaurant, she had taken the dance floor after her meal, moving with skill. Although she was petite (maybe 5'5…), her body boasted full firm curves, curves emphasized by each swirling, twisting movement she made. Her dress was cherry red, sleeveless sans a thin halter like strap and when she spun, it flared out like an upside down rose, providing a prime view of her legs. Her feet were bare with snow white painted toes and the lighting gave her milk chocolate skin a near ethereal glow. What riveted his attention the most was her hair, loose and thick like unraveled kohl rope and her eyes…her eyes were deep chocolate, large and blazing with fire, joy, intelligence…

And now, those eyes locked firmly on his. They blinked once, twice and looking down at her pouty pink lips, he was intrigued to see them curve into a welcoming and gauntlet throwing smile.

To accent that smile, she did a sizzling slow move with her lower half that looked amazingly similar to a double helix, sending jaws to the floor and the last of his tumbler of scotch down the hatch.

"I'll be back…or maybe not." Fitzgerald 'Fitz' Grant III informed them with a wicked grin.

His comrades roared their approval.

_**/**_

He was coming over.

Olivia Pope had spotted him immediately after she came in that night. How could she not? He was not only part of a massive group of military men but he seemed to be the oldest, the tallest, and hands down sexiest. That thick mop of silver fox chocolate curls, the cerulean slate eyes that shone with mischief as two of his boys acted like hilarious fools, his lips, and his _**hands. **_They were a real man's hands: big, veiny, and looked like they held the perfect texture of soft yet calloused.

She had no shame in admitting that she wanted those hands on her in the worst way.

And it seemed like she was going to get what she wanted.

_Happy Birthday to me, indeed_…

Keeping eye contact, she backed herself into a far corner and one of those hands braced against the brick wall, effectively boxing her in. He was a big man, at least 6'2 and she could see an impressive amount of lean muscle through his gray t-shirt and uniform cargos. With his tags hanging out and the hint of shadow on his cheeks, he looked like something straight out of a tasteful centerfold.

"Hi."

His voice was deep and soft but held the promise of power.

"Hi.", she replied with a hint of sass "About time you came over, Flyboy. I've been trying to get your attention, all night."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. Mission accomplished?"

"Very. I'm Fitz Grant."

"Like the California senator?"

"Unfortunately."

Both of them laughed and she could feel her cheeks tint pink as he shifted closer. Olivia was no stranger to flirting or the events that flirting facilitated but her gut was telling her that she had just plunged headfirst into the big leagues. This wasn't Edison Davis. This wasn't an awkward boy transitioning to a man. No, Mr. Grant here was already a man, a grown ass man and she wasn't exactly sure if she could handle…

She shuddered hard as he bent forward and started pressing feather light kisses to the side of her neck, the tip of his tongue flicking out to collect a bit of sweat.

"_What's your name?"_

"_O-Oliv_…Olivia Pope."

"_Beautiful name for a beautiful girl._"

"Woman. I'm 21. Today's my birthday."

"_Happy birthday_."

"Thank you. Um…I'm gonna need you to stop doing that for a second. The last thing I want to do is get arrested for public lewdness."

He pulled away slowly and his now cobalt eyes held a curious gleam as he took a few steps back.

"What _**is**_ this?" he rasped while gesturing between them slowly.

"I don't know." she replied honestly.

"But, you feel it too?"

"Yeah. Before we take this any further, I have to ask: there's not a woman in your life right now, is there? You look like you have a girlfriend. Hell, with the way you look, you could have a harem."

No man should have that beautiful of a smile. It wasn't fair…

"No, I don't have a girlfriend or a harem. Well, my father has someone in mind for me but…no."

"No?"

"_**Hell**_, no."

"There's a story there, isn't it?"

"A long and convoluted one that I don't mind sharing in the morning."

"In the morning? What kind of woman do you take me for, Mr. Grant?"

"Too much?"

"No. You're going to share your story in the late afternoon, if I have something to say about it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Good afternoon, everyone. All these reviews in 2 small chapters, already? You guys are great! Since I left things off in a very interesting place, I'd like to continue on in a much more interesting and citrusy place. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

Fitz growled into her mouth as she slammed harshly him against the back wall of the old elevator, helping her pull the gate across the opening and pushing the up button. Surprising the both of them, it turned out that they stayed in the same converted apartment building, right around the corner from each other, actually. A sharp jolt of heat went down his spine as her cool hands slid underneath his shirt and he shivered as she suckled on his lower lip, pulling it out and nipping at it as the elevator stopped.

Olivia's grip was surprisingly firm as she led him down the corridor and he wrapped his free arm around her from behind, nuzzling at her neck as she unlocked her door with steady hands. He kept at her neck as they walked in and he kicked the door shut behind them, leaning back against it. She shivered and sighed contently, moving into his caresses sensually, her hips firmly against his throbbing erection.

"You smell so good…what the hell do you smell like?" he rasped as she kicked off her 4 inch pearl white heels. His shoes and jacket soon joined them, along with the dove gray trench she had been wearing.

"Shea butter and the mint/orange bath products that all the women in my family swear by. They're in the skull shaped bottles that you'll see later when I do you in the shower." she replied with a gesture towards a closed vermilion door.

He couldn't help but laugh at that and asked, "You don't have much of a brain/mouth filter, do you?"

"Actually, I have a great one but when I'm comfortable with someone, completely pissed off, or about to crawl out of my skin horny, it goes the way of the dinosaur. You've hit two out of three, Flyboy."

"I'm pretty sure I know which ones, Livvie." he quipped as he advanced them towards an ajar plum door.

"Livvie?"

"No good?"

"No, I like it…come here."

He picked her up (prompting a delighted squeal) and resumed kissing her, moving them fully into her bedroom. They hit her bed with a soft thump and she looked up at him with that same fire that drew him in earlier. Her legs snapped forward, locked around his hips, and Fitz yelped as she put him on the mattress, her grin bright and absolutely wicked as she got comfortable on top of him.

"It's still my birthday and I can do whatever the hell I want. I want to unwrap you." she declared before setting about the task happily…slowly…

"_**Fuck…**_"

Who_** was**_ this woman? Where had she come from?

What deity could he thank for allowing him to run into her?

**/**

Olivia's breath escaped her lungs in yet another long, loud scream and Fitz held her to him closer, still moving sultrily slow inside her. His rhythm was measured and more of a deep hard grind than the frantic thrusting she had grown to associate with sex. He was so gentle with her, so tender, like he wanted to memorize her. His mouth roamed over her breasts, her shoulders, her neck before returning to her lips, taking her mouth again hungrily.

After she unwrapped him (with fingers, lips, and her tongue), he had reversed their positions and dragged the side zipper of her dress down with his teeth. When the fabric parted, he had spent time kissing the plane of bare skin between her snow white bra and panties, leaving a trail of leopard spot like love bites in his wake. For some reason, the marks she used to find base and obnoxious felt delicious and she wanted to flaunt them…

_Because Fitz is leaving them…I __**want**__ his marks on me…I like his marks on me…I like all of him on me…I like every single inch of him on me...**in** me…_

He had stripped her down and made sure she was ready. The hands that she had fixated on were more than skilled in the matter as was his tongue. He had made her shatter for him with just his tongue and fingers, making her moan, shiver, and scream. She had never screamed before, not with a partner…

"**_Fitz_**…", she moaned out, her arm going across her eyes.

A deep harsh plunge into her made her gasp sharply.

"_Look at me_."

She shivered and she could feel her channel begin to ripple harder at the commanding tone of his voice.

"_**Look…at…me!**_" he demanded, his words accented by the thundering thrusts into her willing, short circuiting body.

Olivia moved her arm away and she moaned as he lightly gripped her neck, turning her head so she could see the serpent like navy eyes locked on her face.

"_Don't __**ever**__ hide from me…I want to see you, always_…_don't hide from me_..."

"…_b-but you_..._b-barely know me…I...I...b-barely kn-know __**you**__, for that matter_…" she protested even as she dug her blunt nails into the nape of his neck.

He conceded that point with an incline of his head and she let him suckle on her lower lip, his hand moving deep into her hair as their eyes stayed locked.

Her hands slid down his back and rested in the dimples above his ass, feeling the power of his muscles as he gave into his own need. Her lip was released with a pop and she stroked his cheek tenderly with the back of her hand. Fitz took her wrist and pressed kisses to it as he began to come, his ears and nose going scarlet and a deep long moan of satisfaction rumbling in his chest.

"_**Livvie**_…"

All she could do was shiver and moan with him, her body tipping over the edge with him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. First of all, I'd like to start this A/N with a message to David Rosen ala Ms. Tyra Banks: We were rooting for you! We were all rooting for you! **_**HOW DARE YOU?!**_** And the Mole…I guess Ms. Rhimes has embraced her inner soap opera ratchet because she's bringing folks back from the dead now. Billy Chambers…Batshit insane, militantly religious Billy Chambers. It's actually a pretty good choice, all things considering and he'll definitely be an above average boil across everyone's behind in the Finale and Season 3.**

**Can we talk about the Promo? "We are getting married and you'll be moving into the White House.", a Kill Bill death squad in Liv's apartment, Cyrus' black little special heart finally giving out, Mellie succumbing to her inner denial laced madness, and most of all…Fitz getting a midnight snack in the kitchen ala magical thigh pie. I'm ready but not ready and I already know that the Aftermath and hiatus are gonna be hoots. Is it Thursday, yet?**

**PS: It's confirmed! We are getting a 3****rd**** season! They've been writing it since the top of the month so…hells, YEAH! No angry mobs here!  
**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"…holy _**fuck!**_"

"Still judging me, Gingersnap?"

"Yeah, because you still totally banged a guy named _**Fitzgerald**_ but…I get it, Liv…I…wow…look at his face…and his hair…and his abs…_his fucking __**abs**_…"

"Do you need some ice water?"

"More like I need to get back to Harrison and ride like hell…oh, he's waking up…"

"Nah, he's just playing possum. Fitz Grant, open your eyes and say hi to my best friend, Abby Whelan."

Slowly, he did so and sat up, keeping the wrecked bedding close to his legs. Turning his head, he saw a lithe, denim and tye-dye clad redhead looking at him like he was about to get on a pole. Olivia was next to her in a pink kimono like robe and was wrestling her hair into a messy ponytail, brazenly showing the marks from his mouth and scruff.

"Morning, ladies. What time is it?"

"8:45ish. Do you need to get home? You want some breakfast?" Olivia asked gently.

"Not yet and breakfast would be great. Abby, I'd shake your hand but…"

"Ye-ah…nice to meet you…" she tittered while yanking Olivia out the doorway. Fitz shook his head with mirth as he picked up snatches of girl talk, complete with squeals before a loud slam of the door.

"You can come out, now. It's safe!"

Retrieving his boxers from the black ceiling fan, Fitz pulled them on and headed into the living room, surprised that he was actually limping a little. Catching a glance at himself in a nearby full length mirror, he stopped and faced it fully. Scratches on his forearms, a _**deep**_ bite mark on his lower lip, friction and lip gloss marks on his torso, and the reason he was limping was because of a triumphant cluster of lovebites/actual bites on his left inner thigh, darkened around the edges. Fitz pursed his lips and turned his head to look at her significantly.

She looked at him placidly and declared, "I'm not sorry. I shouldn't be. You gnawed on me like a dog with a bone, it's gonna take the Jaws of Life to completely de-tangle my hair _**and**_ I'm walking like Billy the Kid. See?"

He snickered as she practically waddled away from the refrigerator and raised his hands in a surrendering gesture as he joined her in the kitchen.

"Okay, so it was mutual combat…do you need to get to class or something?"

"No. I'm done. After Kindergarten, they put me straight into 3rd grade and then I skipped 8th so I got my degrees way earlier than I was supposed to."

"What are they in?"

"Poli-Sci and Constitutional Law. Valedictorian."

"_**Nice.**_"

"Thank you, kind sir…you're not a vegetarian, are you? Because if you are, you're SOL.", she warned while putting something frozen but homemade in the oven.

"Bacon is mankind's greatest invention, other than penicillin and indoor plumbing."

"I _**knew**_ I picked the right guy to unwrap in that restaurant…speaking of that, I believe you still owe me one long and convoluted story, Fitzgerald."

"I do, don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

She wound a nearby ceramic pink frog timer and put it in the empty sink before leading him through a tan beaded curtain to a nest like area of beanbags and cushions. Settling in a large emerald green one across from her, he began slowly.

"As you know, my father is the Senator from California. Self made man, clawed up from the Docks…new money. New money always seeks Old money to connect with and New money does every and anything it takes to behave as their Old money comrades so it seems like they've been around forever instead of for a few minutes."

"**The Great Gatsby**."

"Exactly!"

"What's that got to do with you?"

"I'm his only son. I have his name. I have youth and potential he feels he lacks so he wants to live vicariously through me. He wants me to be the President of the United States."

"Fitz, every parent in this country wants their kid in 1600 Penn. It's like when they say 'you can be anything you want, honeychild, even a superhero!'", she replied with a very good Southern accent.

"Yeah but it's not just a pipe dream to him. The schools he put me in, the sports he signed me up for, the debate teams, seasonal formals we went to, the kiddie fraternities…all of it was to make me tailor made for the Presidency."

"Wow."

"I was supposed to start my political career in full force after my first tour but…I re-enlisted immediately."

"I remember that. It was on the news. He was _**pissed**_."

"Big Jerry wanted a huge homecoming scene like out of the movies, not only to boost his own approval ratings but to give me a 'leg up', as he put it. After nodding politely and yes, sirring for the rest of that phone call, I filed for base housing and for reenlistment. The only people who knew what I was planning were my mother and sisters. They supported me. They've always supported me."

"Good. So, tell me about Ms. _**Hell**_ No."

"Ms. Hell No…"

"Ms. _**Hell**_ No.", she corrected with sass, making him chuckle before playing along.

"Ms. _**Hell**_ No is Millicent Vaughn."

"_**Millicent?**_ Ew!"

"Everyone calls her Mellie."

"But shouldn't it be Millie? Mellie's a nickname for a broad named Melody or Melinda or even Melpomene…something with a Mel in it. It makes no sense!"

"Olivia…"

"Right, sorry. Continue."

"Mellie's dad and my dad go way back, only he was the son of the dock and shipping company owner. He helped my dad get his start in the winery business and introduced him to some heavy hitters in the political arena, leading to where he is today…"

"Oh my God…you're a camel!"

"_**What?**_"

"A camel, a goat, a piece of property to be traded for gain! Your dad and Ms. _**Hell**_ No's dad must've cut a deal, especially once the 1600 Penn angle came up. 'Hey, man…I helped you get out of the gutter so when your boy grows up, we can hook him up with my daughter so she can the First Lady…' That's it, isn't it?"

"Pretty much and like I said, my dad's obsessed with getting in with the bluebloods. Mellie's family dates back to the DAR, rum running days…and I think there's slave trading there, too."

"Fitz, that's pretty much a given with severely loaded families. It's a sad fact of life that I've grown to accept. So, if he hooks you up with Mellie and you two make babies…plus you'd have the Presidency under your belt and Big Jerry would be able to sit at the head of the blueblood cabal tables and gloat about how he made it all possible."

"Exactly."

"That's horseshit disgusting."

"That's my fucking dad, Livvie."

"Mm. So, now that you're out of the Air Force for good, he's gonna come knocking any day now, isn't he?"

"Most likely…I don't know what I'll do when he does."

"What do you mean? Fitz, you're a grown man with a fully functioning brain. You obviously aren't down with his Grand Master Plan so tell him to take it and shove it up his dick."

"It's not that simple, Olivia."

"Why not? It's your life to live the way you want to. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness means just that. Just because you're some big shot's kid doesn't mean he gets to take that right away from you and railroad you along on some Grand Master Plan. And furthermore, who the fuck died and made him the expert on becoming a World Leader? He can't tell you or anyone else how to be the President of the United States because he's never managed to do it himself."

"He's a two term Senator…"

"…and a three term Governor of a major player state, I know. Still, comparing what he's managed to do to getting up in the Oval Office is like comparing toddlers in tutus to Alvin Ailey dancers. His opinions are invalid. And…and I know I'm barely in my 20s and we just met and all but even I can tell that you're still seeking his approval at the end of the day and that…Fitzgerald, that's just no way to live. You're setting yourself up for failure that way and you don't deserve that at all."

The timer began to ribbit and after briefly squeezing his hand, she jogged back into the kitchen.

Fitz just sat there, her words sinking in and causing a growing buzz. He had never thought of it like that. Well, he had but only briefly and never long enough for him to consider deviating from the Path. It may be unfair bullshit but it was familiar unfair bullshit, familiar unfair bullshit that kept a tentative undercurrent of peace in a strained household. He was out of that household now, though. He had earned the respect of many people, from teachers to squadron mates, not because of his father but because of himself. He had established a career without his father, established a life without his father, found happiness in his work and life without his father.

Found warmth and passion and…care without his father.

He could do more without his father.

He could be the President of the United States without his father.

He could be anything but the President of the United States without his father.

He could do a hell of a lot of things without his father.

"You're pissed off at me now, aren't you? Damn it, I should've just kept things light but I couldn't just let it go and…shit. Me and my fucking big mouth and my need to Fix people and…"

Olivia squeaked as he came up behind her in a hard bear hug and hid his face in her shoulder. Slowly, she pulled one of her electric blue oven mitts off and soon, shaking fingers went to the curls at the nape of his neck, stroking through them tenderly…

She was right. It was his life to live and do with as he wished.

Currently, his greatest wish was for Olivia Pope to stay in his life as a friend, a lover…

…and maybe if he played his cards right and she was willing, his First Lady.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Hi, everyone. I've been spending the last few days mentally preparing for tomorrow's Finale. I know how Ms. Rhimes gets down and I've gotta admit that I am scared. If someone important doesn't get whacked, I have a sinking feeling that we're going to be looking at some Olivia Pope fuckery America's Baby style or some FitzVader fuckery ala Verna's funeral or something else entirely different but Olitz destroying. If so, then as far as I'm concerned, 2x20 will be my canon Season Finale for Season 2 and I'll be waiting impatiently (and writing Fix-It fics like a madwoman) for Season 3.**

**Anyway, back to the story. I'm glad you guys are liking where it's going and it's time for the first Time Jump, this one being 2 months in. I plan on doing more, including one to connect the prologue and then…we're gonna do some Campaign Trailing Olitz style! No Defiance here, folks!**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**2 Months later…**

"Excuse me, miss? Does Fitzgerald Grant live here?"

Olivia looked up from retying her rainbow running shoes and her brows went up. The woman in front of her was drop-dead gorgeous, the sunlight giving her skin a marble like glow. She had on a taupe thigh length trench coat, a pale gray v-neck dress, 3 inch bright floral print heels (with the world famous red soles…), and her dark chocolate hair was up in an immaculate chignon, tendrils framing a pleasant face.

What made Olivia's brows go up was the look in the stranger's eyes. They were a beautiful robin's egg blue but the smile on her face didn't reach them. Instead they were sugar laced arsenic, a calculating gleam hidden from all but the most observant. This stranger, this obviously rich and privileged stranger, was a straight up predator…and she was looking for her Fitz.

Not good, especially if her gut was right on just who the stranger's identity was…

"Yes."

"Is he home?"

"Yes."

Silence stretched between them and Olivia kept her head up high as the stranger began to subtly look her over. Her black tank top clung to her body from sweat and stopped just above her navel, showing her abs and silver butterfly stud piercing. A pair of purple sweats clung to her hips before going baggy and her hair was loose, recently unbraided to give it a lion's mane like look. Olivia could actually see the dismissal enter her gaze, just another middle class minority girl, and the instinctive protective possessiveness began to take on a violent tinge…

"Could you show me where he is?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

More silence, this one sharper and the woman's jaw ticked before asking in that same faux sweetness, "May I ask why?"

"I think you already know why.", she deadpanned.

"_Livvie?_"

"Down here, baby! You have a visitor!" she called back pleasantly, watching with hidden glee as Millicent's face started to go through a series of micro-expressions before settling back into the pleasant smile.

"Fitzgerald!"

"What do you want, Millicent?"

Turning around, she saw Fitz standing at the top of the stairs, looking like he was looking at a roach. His normally warm and jovial voice had taken on an Arctic tinge and Olivia cocked her head as he made his way downstairs, his gait like an animal getting ready for battle. So, this was California Fitz. This was the Fitz of before the Air Force, before he established his own identity and freedom, the puppet on a string Fitz that he was willing to do anything to avoid becoming again…

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"We are not friends. We never have been and we never will be. What do you want, Millicent?"

"I was in the neighborhood…"

"Really? I didn't think you knew any neighborhood past 5th Avenue, much less here in St. George."

"Your father mentioned that you had established yourself in New York and I just wanted to visit you on the way to visit Mummy. Is that a crime?"

"Possibly. Livvie, this is Millicent Vaughn. Millicent, this is my girlfriend Olivia Pope."

"Hello, Millicent."

Another shot of malicious glee filled her as the other woman winced at her firm handshake before replying, "Please call me Mellie, Olivia."

"But your name is Millicent, isn't it? Shouldn't your nickname be something like Millie? Or Lissa? Wouldn't it make more sense?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Fitz bite back a guffaw before he headed towards the mailboxes.

"It…would but my parents couldn't agree on whether to call me Melody or Millicent so they compromised with a nickname."

"Ah. Cute."

"I suppose…Pope…I don't think I've ever heard of your family."

"You're fortunate. Most of the people who hear of my family are setting up funeral arrangements or identifying their loved one in the morgue. My father inherited the family business and my mother's the latest Soileau to cut a Y-incision in the NYC morgue."

"So, you're a native New Yorker?"

"Bronx. So, you're here to visit Fitz but he doesn't consider you to be an acquaintance, much less a friend. That's confusing."

"_**Fitzgerald**_ and I have a long history."

"If that were true, you'd know that he doesn't like being called by his full name, wouldn't you? Long history…so you two used to date back in California?"

"Not…exactly."

"So, you two used to have sex, then?"

"No."

"No dating. No sex. No friendship on his part…where's the history, Millicent?"

"I'm sure that he doesn't feel comfortable with us discussing him like he isn't there, Livvie."

"No, I don't mind." Fitz injected pleasantly.

"There, you see? He doesn't mind and it's Olivia to you. Only people that I'm close to can shorten my name in any form. And Livvie is just for him. I'm still waiting on an explanation about your history. I'm curious."

"So am I."

A deep tinge of pink filled Mellie's cheeks as Fitz returned to their area, one of his arms going fully around her waist in a clear "Mine!" gesture. Olivia shifted closer to him in response and she could see that their heads were tilted in the same inquiring way, Mellie shifting uncomfortably on her feet at their united front.

"I just remembered that I have an appointment…Fitzg…Fitz, do you think you'll be able to join me for dinner before I leave on Wednesday?"

"Probably not. Olivia plans on introducing me to the rest of her friends this weekend and her parents afterwards."

"You could join us. I'd love to hear about Fitz's life out West and even though you two aren't exactly close, I'm sure you have some good stories…"

"No. No, thank you. It was nice to meet you, Olivia. Goodbye."

"Bye!" she called as the door slammed behind her. When the black town car peeled out, Olivia gently pried his arm off of her and turned to face him significantly.

"Now, I understand why you kept re-enlisting and moved over 3000 miles away. Fucking. Bitch."

"Like I told you before, she's my father's choice, not mine."

"I can understand why. A man would do whatever she wanted just to shut her up. Since she's in his back pocket, marrying her would put you very firmly under his thumb again. Is it bad that I've never met your father yet I'd gleefully run him over with a bus…twice?"

"No, Livvie. That's completely natural."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. I don't have much to say about the Finale other than I'm happy that no one important ended up dead and that I will certainly be tuning in for Season 3 just to see what's going to happen with the Ms. Rhimes patented nonsensical fuckery she gave us. And **_**hell **_**to the**_** no**_**, I will not be placated by Olitz extras on the Season 2 DVD because A) I'm not that easily bought, 2) they should've been put in the canon cut, and Q) and most importantly, I can't afford the at minimum 40 bucks for the DVDs, anyway. Besides, knowing the Gladiators, all I have to do is wait and someone will put the extras up on YouTube/Tumblr. Anyway, here's more of the story.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"You really care about her, don't you?"

Fitz nodded mutely and continued looking over at the playground. Olivia was currently on the swings with Abby and Quinn Perkins, all three of them laughing over something. Harrison Wright and Huck had joined him in the lot after making sure they were okay.

Tonight had been nice: Chinese food before a jaunt through Central Park. Her friends had welcomed him in their own ways but Fitz could feel the protectiveness over her. It was tangible and instead of being intimidated or defensive, he was deeply appreciative.

Olivia deserved to have people like them on her side.

"What are your intentions with her?" Harrison continued bluntly.

"Whatever she wants."

"Even if it's not you?" Huck inquired with an edge to his soft spoken calm.

"_**Especially**_ if it's not me. She…she's my… and I want her to be…I _**need**_ her to be…fuck."

Harrison laughed knowingly and a mere hint of a smile curved Huck's lips as he nodded.

"Don't fuck around on her and don't try to change her. She's just fine the way she is."

"My dad fucked and still fucks around on my mom to this day. I saw how it hurt her and I swore I'd never do that to anyone I got involved with. And I agree with you. Livvie's great as she is."

"Most men aren't so sure about that. Her last boyfriend wasn't.", Huck pointed out disdainfully.

"Her last boyfriend was an idiot." Fitz declared as if he was saying the sky was blue.

"And he looked and acted like a long lost Huxtable child. He even had the sweaters…" Harrison chuckled, as if he were remembering a corny yet still funny joke.

"_**You're **_one to talk about fashion. Most of the time your ties make my eyes hurt."

"At least I put ties on!"

"I wish you didn't."

_**/**_

After the getting back to the neighborhood, the boys had gone their separate ways (Fitz pressing a tender kiss to her lips in the process…) but they had decided to have an impromptu sleepover at her place.

"So, you've finally met the inevitable bitch in his life?"

"Inevitable bitch?" Quinn inquired from her nest of blankets.

"Quinn, he's a Senator's son. He's a sexy, loaded, smart Senator's son. There is always a bitch in a guy like that's life. _**Always**_."

"She's not in his life. More like on the fringes and that's only because of his father. He doesn't want her."

"That's good. You don't deserve to play second fiddle to anyone ever." Quinn said with a hint of icy steel on her normally soft features.

"Is she gonna be a problem? I just got my CCW and…"

"_**No!**_ No shooting!"

"Huck's been teaching me a lot about computers. I bet I can freeze her bank accounts no problem now…"

"Jesus Christ, _**no!**_ What's wrong with you two?"

"Liv, you're getting serious about this guy and he's serious about you. If he's serious about you, then that makes him one of Us. We protect our own. You always say that. Now, seriously…is this Artist Formerly Known As Millicent bitch gonna be a problem or not?"

Olivia leaned back in her aquamarine bowl chair and closed her eyes in thought. Looking at things objectively, she could see that Mellie was a politically minded woman on a Mission. She was intelligent but too brash to do much on her own. She needed a springboard in the form of an upwardly mobile husband, one with deep political family roots and with the ability to provide the high class lifestyle she was accustomed to. And given what Fitz told her, she may have been groomed from an early age to expect to become a Grant shortly after they came of age. Fitz going off to the Air Force and staying threw off whatever Grand Timetable but that was deemed salvageable.

Once Mellie came back from "Mummy's" with a report of their pawn getting seriously tangled up with the likes of her…

"Yeah. Yeah, she's gonna be a problem. The good Senator will be one, too."

"What…what are you gonna do, then?"

Opening her eyes, she let a slow, cool smile curve her lips upward.

"Handle them."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Hi, everyone. I'm past my Finale That Must Not Be Named angst now and I've gotten back into the Gladiator Day of the Week activities on Tumblr so that makes me happy. I've also decided to use my SCANDAL-less weekends to go out, mostly to the movies (**_**Iron Man 3**_** and **_**Star Trek Into Darkness**_** are on the agenda at least 3 times each) and although it hurts my muscles like hell the next day, Zumba will be a part of my routine as well. I'm happier when I work out and my Muses are more active. Not only is that good for you guys, it's good for the followers of stories I haven't touched in eons, too.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**Meanwhile in California…**

"This is a problem."

Senator Fitzgerald Thomas Grant Jr., more commonly known as Big Jerry, couldn't help but snort at Cyrus Beene's gift for the understatement as he flipped through the latest file. His son was formally, honorably discharged due to unspecified injuries and valor during a redacted mission. Tripp had also gotten a job in a construction company, his unit swinging sledgehammers and jackhammering concrete for hours on end. He had also obtained his masters in Constitutional Law, another degree to join the ones in Philosophy and Ancient Folklore. He was volunteering in a local urban farming program and participated in yoga classes every Friday night. By all accounts, even though he was still squandering valuable time to build up his own political capital, Tripp was not only surviving in NYC but thriving…happy.

What was the problem, then?

The Problem was the pretty young thing in the overwhelming majority of the photos with him. Mellie had come back home with a name, Olivia Pope, and his boys were already looking deep into her, as well as her family. The girl was African-American with French Creole roots through her mother's side, upper middle class, highly intelligent, and unrepentantly unconventional in her ways. Even in the photographs, he could see the sheer devotion she had towards Tripp and vice versa. The boy was completely over the moon…

"I remember her. Olivia Pope took Yale by storm when she arrived and she's a wunderkind, a pistol, totally dominated in the Debate circuit. She was the main reason for my broken winning streak…"

"You're _**still**_ bitter about that?"

"Of course I am! Every time I visit, Grayden Osbourne can't go a minute without reminding me that I passed on her! She was barely 16! How the hell was I supposed to know that she…"

"_**Cy-rus**_…"

"Right…anyway, she's brilliant and she's got a knack for cutting through bullshit like a hot knife through butter."

"What Party does she belong to?"

"She's apolitical, Jerry. When asked why, she said that she couldn't ignore the underlying flaws in all the parties enough to pledge her allegiance so she refuses. That gives her an edge."

"That makes her a wild card. Apoliticals are game changers."

"In more ways than one apparently. She doesn't seem like the type to go down quietly and even if she was, Fitz wouldn't let her. According to my source…"

"Who_** is**_ your source, by the way?"

"A member of his squadron, Jake Ballard."

"I remember Jake. Good kid. A little odd but good overall…he's the source of these pictures?"

"One of the main ones. I know that Larry's got some people working on it. Anyway, Fitz is completely wrapped around her fingers and it seems to be a two way street…"

Jerry brought two photos back to the top of the stack and looked at them. In the one on the left Tripp and the Pope girl were at the Library, peering into a huge tome. Well, Tripp was peering. She was looking at him with soft Bambi eyes, her black and sky blue tiger print glasses slightly askew and her lower lip between her teeth. The one on the right was a shot of them during the gardening program, the girl grinning as he pressed a kiss to the apple of her cheek. It was amazing. Mellie had been around for years, since they were in elementary school but Tripp had barely spared her a glance. Olivia Pope, Olivia goddamned Pope, swooped in (or rather, _**danced**_ in…) and threw everything off track.

Larry was Lawrence Vaughn Jr., current owner of the docking company where he started and Mellie's father. They had a mutually beneficial relationship. Jerry would back his expansion efforts and Larry would back him politically…and his son, too…just as long as it was Mellie on his arm. Otherwise…

"I'm not saying that he can't keep carrying on with this Pope girl but Mellie is his endgame. I'm sure that she'd be willing to look the other way for the Greater Good…"

"Jerry, you and Larry need to consider the possibility of Mellie becoming a non-factor. Fitz has literally flown headfirst into danger to avoid going down the aisle with her, not to mention that he lives in a state 3000 miles away from any of you. And…well, he seems to be happy."

"Getting soft on me, Beene?"

"Never. I'm just looking at it practically. Instead of pushing Mellie off on him, I think you should just let whatever this thing going on with Olivia Pope run its course. Even though she's got a 40 year old's mind, she's still 21 with 21 year old impulses and Fitz is no saint either. Whether either of you likes it or not, he's still your son at the end of the day, after all. Once whatever novelties she's got wear off and that twentysomething wanderlust kicks in… you should certainly find someone other than Mellie because obviously he can't stand her but I don't think this fling is worth Fixing."

"Yet or at all?"

"You'll have to figure that out for yourself, Jerry."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. Famous last words indeed, Clio1792…don't get me wrong, at the end of the day, I love me some Ms. Cyrus to death but sometimes, he gets on my last left and right nerves with his Machiavellian flip-flopping Olitz ways. On the one hand, he's arranging times for them to commune with nature (Treegate/2x03) or offering to remove lipstick from the collar ("So be it" Oval Scene/2x21) but then he goes and photon torpedoes them both in the face if it suits his own purposes (#Verna Dead and #Struggle Sex revealed/Finale-That-Must-Not-Be-Named). The way I write him in this story and **_**Road**_** for that matter (I'll be tending to that story soon, no worries) will be positive overall but unlike their canon counterparts, my Liv and Fitz will firmly shut him down if necessary. "Stay in your lane or get ran off the road, motherfucker!" and all that good stuff. **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"Are you nervous about meeting my parents?"

"No."

"Baby, did you know that your ears flush cherry red when you're turned on…and when you lie like Congress?"

Laughing, he pulled her against him and she thumped him gently on the forehead with a box of Bounce as she pulled away giggling. All right, so he was nervous. It was a given. Although he was far from a virgin, the closest he had gotten to meeting the parents was when the Vaughns came to visit the Ranch or when they went to visit their compound. He had established a decent rapport there but this…this was different!

"I actually want to be with you and if your parents don't like me…", he started.

"…then I'm still going to be your woman unless you willingly cheat on me or get locked up for something terrible. I'm a grown woman and can make my own decisions about who I want to be with. My decision is you whether they or your dad or God knows who else likes it not. But, they'll like you. Stop worrying." she cut off firmly before chucking a pair of his rolled up socks at him.

He caught them and threw them back, applauding as she used the aforementioned box of Bounce as a ricochet point into his basket.

The laundry room in their building was being painted and upgraded so they had decided to head to the Laundromat together. Once they had settled in, she had given him a collegiate like monologue in the arts of sorting, pre-treating stains, and the best combinations of detergents/softeners to get the most bang for his buck. Since his idea of laundry was throw it all in, put the detergent in and hope for the best, Fitz had appreciated it, as did the few others there in the Saturday mid morning.

Plus, she was damned fine when she was taking someone back to school, even if it was him…_**especially**_ if it was him.

"_Damn it!_" she hissed out of the blue.

"What's wrong?"

"Edison Davis."

"Who?"

"My ex. He just pulled up. Fuck, I forgot that he does his laundry here…"

Fitz watched as a tall black man made his way towards the building, a large gray sack of laundry over his left shoulder and a black basket of supplies tucked under his right arm. As more details began to appear, he shook with silent mirth. Harrison had been right on the money. Even though it was in the lower 70s outside, Edison Davis was in beige khakis, brown loafers, and a pullover argyle gray, pink, orange and white sweater. All he needed was a bowl of Jell-O pudding and…

"_**Wow**_…" he drawled slowly.

"If I don't judge you for the Artist Formerly Known as Millicent, then you can't judge me for Edison!"

"You _**do**_ judge me for her! All the time!", he protested laughingly.

"No, I judge your father! Look, just…be nice. Even though the breakup was mutual at the time, he's been trying to resume things so he's definitely gonna come over and…I swear Fitzgerald, if you make a scene and get us kicked out, I'm not screwing you for a week.", she declared firmly.

"Really, Livvie?"

"…no. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't be mad at you! It would be angry screwing!"

"_**Wow**_…"

"Shut up, Flyboy!"

Sure enough, the other man's eyes immediately went to Olivia when he came in but to his credit, he didn't come over immediately. He picked an area that was furthest away from them and spent a good 10 minutes taking out his supplies, using the reflection of the dark TV screen to look at her. Fitz couldn't blame him for looking. She had on a teal tube top and an ankle length blue and lavender floral length skirt that hugged her body in all the right ways. With her hair down and white wedges, she looked like she had just stepped off a runway…

"Olivia?"

_**/**_

Tossing a last warning look to an 'innocently' watching TV Fitz, she faced Edison with a polite smile. He had approached her at a mini college reunion and asked her out. He had wanted to for since he first saw her but with the age issue…anyway, it had lasted a little over two years. He was from Georgia but he had family in St. George, living 8 blocks from her. Honestly, he was a good man. Really, he was but they were just too incompatible where it counted.

Olivia was vibrant, fierce, and outspoken to a pathological degree. Edison wasn't. He liked routine and kept himself firmly censored. His family had hated her. Her parents had been indifferently tolerant. His friends thought she was a freak. Her friends thought he was boring and too much of a straight edge. He had wanted her to move in with him. She wanted to keep her own space. He had wanted her to stop working in the PR department of Morton, Isles, and King so he could take care of her 'like a man should'. She was having none of that. He was a strong Democrat and Baptist. She was staunchly apolitical and agnostic on a good day.

And the sex…it had been good when she had the reigns but when _**he**_ had them…

They had decided to separate for the good of their friendship and that had worked well until he started trying to flirt, reminiscing about how good they were together…Olivia had no intentions of resuming their romantic relationship so she had put some firm distance between them, going so far as to change her number and running route.

"Hey, Edison."

"Who's your friend?" he asked with a hint of a petulant edge.

_Rip the band-aid off and keep it moving, Pope…_

"Edison, this is my boyfriend, Fitz Grant III. Fitz, this is Edison Davis."

"Oh. Nice to meet you."

When Fitz stepped forward to accept his outstretched hand, even though he was smiling, she could see the California ice in his eyes, as well as a hint of the possessiveness she was accustomed to seeing in their bedroom. She could see sinew shift on his bare forearm as he gripped Edison's hand very tightly and honestly, Olivia felt like whistling the clichéd spaghetti western theme as they had a mini stare off. Men…

"Nice to meet you, too. Livvie, I'm making a food run. You want anything?" he inquired while causally putting his gray military jacket on over his plum purple t-shirt.

And once again, she appreciated the fact that she was with an older man. Although Fitz had a deep jealous streak, there was a maturity there that kept it under wraps most of the time. The maturity also granted her autonomy, trust, and rationality that she just couldn't get with someone her age…or Edison's age for that matter.

Or maybe that was just Edison.

"Where you headed?"

"The deli down the block."

"The chicken salad special there is on point and enough for both of us. Bring back the receipt and we'll go halfsies."

"All right."

With a quick brush of his lips over hers, he was on the move, without a care in the world…at least visibly. Fitz would be seeking reassurance later and she would all too glad to give it to him.

"Grant…like the California Senator?"

"Mm-hm. He doesn't act like it, though. How have you been, Edison? I heard on the grapevine you were dating someone…"

She had heard no such thing.

"No, I'm still single. I didn't know you had been looking for someone. You said that you were just looking to be you for a while."

"And it had been a while when I met Fitz. What are you getting at?"

"You never struck to be that type, that's all."

"Think very carefully before you answer this but what do you mean by **_that type_**?"

"You know… the type to be a rich white guy's arm candy."

Logically, she knew that Edison was just speaking out of jealousy and his own misunderstanding. Logically, she knew that the misunderstanding about her dynamic with Fitz was common and would only get worse the closer the two of them got. Logically, she knew that she should retreat politely from the conversation, put her headphones in, and wait for Fitz to come back with lunch. Logically, she knew that she should be the utterly sweet epitome of grace and dignity and let this crock of bullshit roll over her like an ocean's wave, that getting angry would just make things worse…

She wasn't feeling very logical right now.

"5) We've been broken up for over 8 months and it was mutual so this whole jealous scorned lover thing is _**far**_ from appropriate, 4) I am _**no **_man's arm candy, rich or otherwise, 3) even I if **_was_** Fitz's arm candy, it is absolutely none of anyone's goddamned business except for me and Fitz's and riddle me this, Edison: just who the fuck died and made you the supreme judge of relationships anyway…"

"Olivia…", Edison started as he started backing away to his area, her following him like a hunter.

"**I**…**am**… _**speaking!**_ Shut up and listen…what number was I on?"

"2, sugarplum.", an elderly and amused looking man supplied between passes of his iron.

"Thank you, sir…2) you have no idea who Fitz is, what he's about, and how he is and the fact that you can come in my face and insult my man like it's nothing makes me want to force feed you bleach and 1) and most importantly, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III is a good man, he's my man, I'm keeping him in my life as long he'll let me, and he treats me with the utmost care and respect, asshole! Something that you _**never**_ did!"

"I didn't because you wouldn't let me! You spent so much time with your Walls up and were so damned obsessed with 'keeping your individuality' that you…"

"You should've fought harder and you shouldn't have felt the need to change me in the first place, idiot! That is not love! You don't know what love is, Edison!" she sneered icily.

"What the fuck are you saying?! That you love him?!"

"Yes! That is _**exactly**_ what the fuck I'm saying! I love him, not you, not anybody else and if you can't deal with that, then you need to take you and your ignorant ass opinions and your mama's boy, Cosby kid refugee attitude and your minute man dick and _**fuck off!**_"

The Laundromat erupted in raucous applause, whoops, and whistles as Edison did just that (leaving all his laundry behind…) and she turned away from him to collide with a very familiar chest.

"Fitz…"

"You love me?"

She sighed heavily and met his stormy cerulean slate gaze head on, her cheeks still heated from rage and embarrassment.

"Fitz…"

"**Do you love me?**"

"…_yes._"

And she did. She really, truly did.

His face visibly softened and she shivered as he held her close, her eyes falling shut as his lips went to her neck. Her lips pressed against his cheek and cupping his face, she aggressively initiated a deep kiss, plunging her tongue into his mouth to claim it, claim him for all to see.

"_I…love…you…too_." he murmured between kisses, sending a hot bolt of delighted lightning from her head to her feet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Happy Friday, everyone. I'm really glad that you guys enjoyed last chapter's humor and Events. I wanted Liv to be the first one to drop the 'I love you' bomb from Jump Street. Fitz has always been the aggressor that way in canon, which I appreciate, but I wanted to do something different. Besides, right now, I'm trying to write in the polar opposite way that Ms. Rhimes does because I'm still thoroughly pissed off at her and her enablers.**

**It was impulsive for me to have Liv tear and 'power drill Quinn' Edison a new one but it fit well and I've been aching to use the 2x11 reverse countdown of WIN in one of my Olitz scribbles. I've already decided on Jake being the main male their age anti-Olitz/Fitz boil across the ass in this story but Edison will return briefly in the future. I'm glad that the Takedown was seen as the high point of the chapter. Well, after Liv saying those three little words first…**

**To address a tactfully raised and relevant concern (it's always great to find an anon reviewer with sense and manners…): I co-sign. Liv got straight up ghetto in the Laundromat. She truly did. However, she's only 21 and much less refined than her canon counterpart in this story.**

**Also, I'm basing her off of myself in this story (cautiously, of course…I don't want to get into the deep dark realm of Mary Sue-dom. I'd rather have my fingers ripped off before I go down **_**that **_**road) and if someone decided to get on their high horse and demean my relationship with my Dude like Edison did, even if they **_**are**_** a non-factor at the end of the day…I wouldn't kill them but I'd certainly make them **_**wish**_** they were dead. I'd make them think not twice but thrice about speaking out of turn where I could hear them. Liv in the Laundromat is me in the Laundromat.  
**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"_You love me_."

"Thoroughly…and let the record show that I said it first."

"Does it matter?"

"Hell yes it does. I'm gonna hold it over your head for the rest of our lives."

He chuckled and watched as she stretched in his king sized bed like she owned the thing, shameless in her nudity. That was another thing that he appreciated about her. Not just because she was beyond gorgeous whether she had clothes on or not but also because she was completely comfortable in her skin. She knew who she was, what she wanted to be, where she wanted to go, and wasn't afraid to fall flat on her face if it meant she'd grow. Fitz, who had been raised to put stock in 'the right type' of people's opinions no matter what, loved that…loved her. He loved Olivia Carolyn Pope in all her glory with everything he had.

What if he hadn't met her at all? What if he had met her too late? God, the very idea of that…

"What's on your mind?"

"You. How I feel about you and why I feel that way."

"Well, come back to bed and think about it."

When he got to the foot of the bed, he grabbed her ankles and pulled her down, kneeling on a discarded pillow. Olivia gasped and he could see a dreamy smile curve her lips as he pressed another tender French kiss to her opening. He had always had an oral fixation. That was why he had been a nail biter, a pencil eraser chewer, why he kept hard candy on him like a grandparent, and why he absolutely adored going down on a woman. Figuring out what she liked, tasting her, hearing her moan and scream could satisfy him just as much, if not more than penetration.

Olivia was the softest, sweetest, most responsive woman he had ever tasted and he had no intention of tasting anyone else for the rest of his life…

The impulse struck him hard and he had no intention of fighting against it.

Looking up into her burning gaze, he picked up her left hand and began to run his ring finger over hers slowly, significantly. The sex haze retreated immediately and she pushed him away gently, sitting up fully. His grip on her hand didn't slacken and he continued moving his finger, knowing that she understood.

She always understood.

"A-are you _serious?_"

He nodded, his resolve and conviction deepening by the second.

"Fitz, we just…we've barely…you really want to…holy fuck, you want to…Fitz, I…"

"Land your plane, Livvie."

She stopped the movement of his finger with her right hand but didn't move to break the grip.

"You're proposing to me? You are asking me to marry you?"

"I am."

"While we're naked? While you're going down on me?"

"Yes. Why not? I'm already on my knees."

She laughed and he rested his head on her trembling abdomen.

"You haven't even met my parents and I haven't met yours."

"You said that they'd love me and we can fix that afterwards."

"Your father will totally lose his mind."

"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?"

"Fitz, we've barely known each other 6 months and…"

"…you declared to your jagoff ex and a riveted crowd that you love me and you want to stay with me as long as possible. Were you lying?"

"No. I don't lie about shit like that. Nobody should lie about shit like that."

"Agreed. Olivia Carolyn Pope, you are my best friend and the best non-related woman that I have had the privilege of knowing. I am in love with you. I don't want to be with anyone but you. I want to marry you and only you. Will you let me marry you?"

_**/**_

**3 weeks later…**

"_**What?!**_"

Jake Ballard winced at the roar through the speaker of his flip phone before calmly repeating his latest report. He was in disbelief as well. If he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes and camera, he wouldn't believe it. Looking out of the windshield of his plain black sedan, he watched as the group of friends plus her parents celebrated at the bottom of the courthouse stairs.

Grant was in full flight uniform sans his helmet. The Red Baron was tucked securely against his left side in a fairy like white and silver dress, similar to the one from the restaurant but completely sleeveless. She was in at minimum 3 inch sparkly periwinkle blue heels and she was wearing his old tags like a necklace. Also, the both of them had gotten inked. It had been in the late, late evening after the Laundromat incident, both of them stone cold sober at the time.

The tattoos were on their left wrists: black, silver, and white arabesque like vines and leaves that left an infinity symbol shaped section of bare skin in the middle.

"…_married…__**legally**__ married?_"

"It appears that way. They're at a courthouse with her parents there as witnesses, as well as her group of friends."

"_Did he mention that he was planning to do this?_"

"Not to me. He pulled something out of a safety deposit box at an upper Manhattan Chase branch after meeting her parents two Saturdays ago."

"_His grandmother's rings…Jerry mentioned that she had left them to him in her will…they're Liz Taylor priceless…__**damn it!**_"

"What's my next move?"

"_You put together whatever you have and drop it. Then, you cease and desist unless you're contacted by one of us. And if asked by either of them in the future, we have never met. We have never spoken. Clear?_"

"Yes, sir."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. All right, now that we've gotten sufficient background info (no worries, I'll address Olitz's first meeting with Cyrus soon…), it's time to jump back to the present , Liv's prologue gauntlet throwing words still echoing in the rafters. And she's certainly still dropping the mic here...  
**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**Present Day**

"…_Look, I get it. You had a life path for him planned out before you turned on the Barry White record to make him and now, it's pretty much shot to hell. He has rejected your DAR, WASP Republican betrothal in favor of an African American, apolitical, daughter of a funeral parlor owner and a coroner that couldn't even legally drink until 6 months ago. You're angry and that's your prerogative but I'm going to tell you some cold truths right now, Senator: I love your son. He is the love of my life, regardless of whether he is the President of the United States or a janitor. Your son loves me. He doesn't want anyone but me and I don't want anyone but him. We are married. We eloped but we are married. Anyone that tries to destroy that…"_

_"Are you threatening me, Ms. Pope?"_

_"It's Mrs. Pope-Grant and I am promising you that if you plot anything else against us, I will not only destroy your reputation and career, I will gleefully destroy __you__. My family's livelihood directly involves death and has for over 40 years on both sides. Do not test me on this…Daddy."_

* * *

**Never show fear**. That had been one of the main lessons Fitzgerald Grant I had driven into his head, along with the importance of hard work, saving money, and networking. However, that mantra didn't prohibit feeling fear and right now, staring into the sharp chocolate eyes of Olivia Pope…Big Jerry felt fear. Not because of the matter of fact promise of death his…daughter-in-law…had just given him, not even because of the radical yet potent outline of just why this…marriage…could pay off dividends but because of an utter lack of control.

Olivia Pope…Olivia _**Pope-Grant's**_ only weakness seemed to be his son but that wasn't really a weakness at all, it seemed. She could not be bought, she could not be manipulated, and she could not be easily categorized. Even getting a loose read on her was well nigh impossible. She was a damned chameleon...

Like Millicent, she was intelligent but unlike her, Olivia wielded her intellect like a machete. While Millicent was slow, sweet poison, Olivia was a bold and brazen warrior, ready and willing to (gleefully, in her words...) tear anyone that threatened her and those she loved to shreds. Most of all, unlike Millicent, she had captured every part of Tripp: his mind, his dick, and even his heart. The boy was completely over the moon for her. He'd burn down everything for her and Big Jerry could easily see him taking a beating or a bullet for her. What disturbed him was that it was a two-way street.

The last time he had seen such matter of fact devotion had been between his parents and that devotion had weathered everything and every_**one**_ that had the audacity to challenge them.

_"That makes her a wild card. Apoliticals are game changers."_

_"In more ways than one apparently…"_

Resigned, Big Jerry broke the staring contest and went to the small bar he kept in his office.

If he was going to swallow his pride enough to allow this, he needed to be drunk…

"Ms. Pope…"

Her eyes widened and her jaw clenched around a soft but audible snarl. Wonderful…his son had married an apolitical, beautiful African-American psychopath. A psychopath that he had to make nice with…

"_**Olivia**_…you have to understand. I'm just worried about my son. This is all so sudden."

She stood and joined him at the bar, matter of factly pouring herself a drink.

"You're worried about his political future, not him. Don't pretend otherwise. But, like I said earlier, those worries are unnecessary now. I do agree with you, though. This is very sudden. Wonderful but sudden."

Big Jerry took a deep pull of his tumbler of scotch and asked rhetorically, "I suppose you've convinced him to just completely forgo running for the presidency?"

"No. Weren't you listening? If Fitz wants to make a run for 1600 Penn, then we're prepared and I'm all for it. If he doesn't want to, I'm all for that, too. Even though we are married, it's still his life to live the way he sees fit. As long as it's legal, I'm ride or die. But, it has to be his choice. _**His**_, goddammit. Not yours, mine, or anyone else's. See, you and god knows who else around here never really gave him choices. You all sat down and plotted out a life path for him and just expected him to follow it like a fucking Borg drone. He didn't. He didn't and frankly, he is all the better for it. If you'd pry your head out of your drunken arrogant ass and smell a different viewpoint every once in a while, you would see that. You would even encourage it."

"You really don't like me, do you, Olivia?"

"I absolutely despise you as a human being. You're a great politician but you're terrible at everything else important. And you make Fitz unhappy. I don't like people who make my loved ones unhappy."

"_**Wow…**_"

"Life is much too short to be less than clear about one's feelings and intentions. That's why I'm not going into politics myself. I don't have the strength or the patience to put on that sort of show.", she replied unrepentantly.

"And if you end up the First Lady?"

"Then, I'm still going to feel like that and act accordingly. Besides, if _**I'm**_ chugging milk from the carton in 1600 Penn at 2AM in my rainbow polka dot undies, then America and its people will have truly evolved enough to accept Fitz and me raw and uncut…that sounded wrong…oh, well. May I go back to my probably freaking the fuck out by now husband now or are you up for losing another round of verbal jousting?"

"You're good for the ego, Olivia."

"I'm the walking equivalent of a high speed stiletto heel to the junk and you know it, Senator. Look, as long as you stay in your lane, I'll keep things civil. I'm not going to make Fitz feel like he has to choose between me and you, although it would be a landslide victory in my favor. All I ask in return is that you respect our marriage and that you make an honest attempt to respect your son. He's not weak or stupid and he's _**far**_ more capable than you give him credit for. He's a great man…despite you being his sperm donor. I'm leaving, now."

Before he could respond, she finished her drink and slipped through the French doors. After a moment, he could hear her bare feet retreating in the hallway, as if she were…skipping? Opening the door, Big Jerry shook his head incredulously as he saw her definitely skipping form turn the corner towards the main kitchen.

What the hell had just happened?

A 5'5, barely twentysomething year old girl in a tropical floral print frock, a wrist cuff like wedding tattoo, his mother's priceless rings, and with a goddamned big white bow in her hair like a schoolgirl had just faced him down…and won.

"Fuck."

If this was any indication of Tripp's current state of mind, then he was in trouble.

Deep trouble.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Good afternoon, everyone. I'm not feeling well but I am determined to get a couple of chapters up for **_**Road**_** before the beginning of next week. Right now, though the Muses are hot for this fic and this fic only. I'm glad you guys enjoyed the latest round of Liv vs. BJ and there will be more to come later. I truly enjoy taking characters that annoy me back to school and it's a good way to emphasize the differences between Fitz's marriage here to Olivia and the cold pseudo-marriage to Mellie in canon, who will be returning to the story later. For sure. She's just too good of a conflict point to let fade unceremoniously into the mists, both in fic and in canon. Anyway, here's some Olitz goodness.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

Olivia made to walk past an ajar door (she had gotten lost…_**man**_, the place was huge!) but before she could, a hand snatched her into the room. Before she could even sputter, Fitz's lips crashed down on hers and she responded hungrily, even in her startled confusion. After a few minutes, she began to lightly tap the skin behind his ears, a nonverbal plea for oxygen. Their lips parted with a loud pop but his arms went around her tightly, hauling her against him protectively, possessively…was he shaking? He was shaking…

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"_Nothing…nothing's wrong __**at all**__…my god, I love you so much_…" he replied fervently into her neck, nuzzling and kissing at the skin tenderly.

"I love you, too. What's with all this, though?" she replied as her knees made contact with a nearby navy blue settee. Fitz advanced her further onto it and sat down on the floor next to it, looking at her with the softest eyes she had ever seen from him.

"I heard what you just said to him through the intercom… I know, I know… I'm sorry. I was just worried when you didn't come back right away…and…I heard you defend us…defend **me**…no one's ever done that before…", he explained before looking down at his clasped hands shyly.

The genuinely awed tone of his voice made her heart shatter in her chest and only deepened the faint (and blatant) disdain she felt towards his family. What the hell was wrong with them? All of them? How could they say that they loved him but then just rake him over the coals (or _**let**_ him be raked over the coals…) like it was nothing? What kind of power did Big Jerry wield over his family that they'd find it acceptable for one of their own to be treated like shit for so long? She should not be the first person to stick up for Fitz and mean it. He had a mother, 2 older sisters, and 2 older brothers by marriage. All of them seemed to have a firm grip on their intelligence and had love for Fitz. Why hadn't they stepped up? What the hell was going on?

"Why is that? Why am I the first and apparently the only person to really stand up to your father when it comes to you…or anything else for that matter? I'm not understanding the dynamics here…"

"It's always been like this, Livvie. Keeping up appearances and keeping the peace trumps everything around here, even if it means someone gets hurt."

"Has he ever…he's not a…"

"Not physically but emotionally? Definitely."

"Bastard. I hate him, Fitzgerald. I hate him almost as much as I love you."

"He's not worth it, Olivia. He's really not."

"That's very true but it doesn't change how I feel."

Silence fell between them and she stared up at the oak paneled ceiling, idly trailing her fingers through his dark curls as he rested his head on her right shoulder. The Grant Family Ranch/Compound was gorgeous, looking straight out of a romantic period drama. The main house was a Georgian mansion and there were small guest cottages scattered over the land, stables and riding circles radiating outward with cobblestone paths like vines. The décor was understated, classic luxury, kept neat and clean by a loyal staff. Everything was beautiful, classy, proper…

Everything was hollow. So damned hollow…

"How are you the way you are? How did you not…how are you not like him? "

"Everything he did outside of politics, I did the opposite and I got out as soon as I could. I had intended to do one tour but…"

"You found a niche. You found people who respected you for you and not just because you're a Grant or a senator's son."

"Actually, I got a metric ton of shit for being a senator's son but I didn't mind it. It made me work harder. I found a niche and I wanted to stay as long as I could."

"You got injured badly on your last tour, didn't you? There are jagged scars on your lower back and near your armpits. There's also a long faded one really close to your liver. You got shot down in a bad area."

"I did, I had to fight my way out, and that's all I can tell you. The rest is classified."

"I don't want to know. I'm just glad you're here."

Their eyes met for a long beat and he nodded once before standing up, pulling her up and leading her back into the labyrinth like halls. She couldn't help but admire the way his body moved underneath his clothes. The blue pinstripes on his purple button down emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and his black jeans emphasized…

He shot her a _**look **_as she brazenly took a handful of his ass but Olivia just grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

She wasn't about to feel shame for groping her husband. That was part of the pros of having one in the first place! And he was oh so very gropeable…

"Where are we going?" she asked as they ascended a back staircase.

"My room." he replied crisply.

"Giving me the grand tour, aren't you?"

"I'll give you a grand tour later. Right now, I want to give you a grand screaming orgasm. Complaints, wife?"

"Not a one, husband."

As soon as they turned a last corner, he pivoted on his heels and she gave a small hop into his arms, locking her limbs around him securely as they entered his room. It was large with pale gray walls, the pale gray part of the black and blue tartan pattern on the drawn curtains and top quilt. She was deposited on that quilt on her knees and he looked at her with expectant serpent like cobalt eyes. Licking her lips, she spread her knees wider (providing an excellent view of the aforementioned rainbow polka dotted panties…) and slowly lowered the straps of her dress. Fitz got into bed above her and her back bent to accommodate his latest kiss, quick but deep. With a gentle nudge, she was on her back and he rose up on his knees, moving her legs to frame his lower half.

Olivia let her eyes fall shut rapturously as he slowly unbuttoned her dress, the cool metal of his rings feeling like ice against her heated skin. The upper half of the dress fell down to her hips and a low male grunt of satisfaction made her eyes slide open again.

Fitz always loved it when she wore things that didn't require a bra.

He unbuttoned his shirt and her hand stroked up into the hair that bisected his abs, delighting in the feel of it and the delighted shiver that went through her husband's body. She loved making him feel good, making him want her…

"C'mere."

He moved so that they were skin on skin and she hugged him to her, rubbing her knuckles at the ever present knot just beneath his left shoulder. Moving away from her with a light kiss, his hands pulled the sundress off completely and Olivia helpfully raised her hips so he could remove her damp panties. His lips began a leisurely journey downward and she had to ask…

"You're not gonna ask any more game changing questions while you're down there, are you?"

His laughter was deep and throaty (sending shivers up and down her spine) before he replied, "_That's a onetime only deal. How else would my proposal be memorable?_"

Her rebuttal was lost in a long moan of bliss…


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Good afternoon, everyone! Okay, folks. Here's the last flashback before we fast forward to Trail time. As I mentioned in Chapter 1, Liv and Fitz had met Cyrus before the California Confrontations and managed to get him on their side when it comes to them being their Olitzy, potential First Swirl Couple selves. How? **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**2 weeks before Chapter 1: Enter the Sassy Political Dragon**

"Cyrus, Olivia and I didn't get married because she's pregnant or even to give my father a swift kick to the teeth, although that's a happy side effect. We got married because we love each other and that's not changing anytime soon, especially in the name of political optics and capital."

"Fuck that shit." the aforementioned Olivia declared calmly as she carefully put milk crates full of vinyl records into their chosen place.

In another lifetime, Cyrus Beene would find Fitz's 'what she said' look and gesture absolutely hilarious but right now, it was just another investment towards his inevitable stress induced heart attack. Big Jerry had called him at the crack of dawn a week before in a lethally calm rage, demanding that he turn on the news and asking if it was time to handle the 'fling' now or should they wait for a positive pregnancy test. Turning on GMA, the still shot of Fitz tongue kissing Olivia Pope on the courthouse stairs took up the main screen. The panel had been all a-twitter at the sight of Nadia Reacher-Grant's wedding set (a set that had disappeared from the limelight after her death in '89) and the usual stir over an interracial relationship had been magnified tenfold.

The prodigal Senator's son had returned home as a decorated war hero and been charmed by a brilliant, cheerful, strong ray of sunshine from the Bronx, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. It was the sort of story that media outlets and romance novel teeny-boppers adored…

Since Ballard had given him the heads up before it dropped, he had been able to keep a level head as he joined Big Jerry and Larry Vaughn at a nearby country club. Larry had been angry too but he knew a dead horse when he saw it. He'd find another sucker…_**man**_ for his 'princess' and regroup. Whether she was a Grant or not, his Millicent had enough brilliance and chops to make her own way into the Big Time and eventually into the First Lady position.

Frankly, Cyrus thought that the girl had an ice cube's chance in hell of doing anything on her own but at least Vaughn was placated. Now, to deal with Jerry and this…marriage…

"Fitz, I get it. I'm all for love and happiness but…"

"I'm not letting that Artist Formerly Known as Millicent bitch take him away from me, Cyrus. Or any other one for that matter. And I certainly won't stand by and let my dear father-in-law poke his nose where it doesn't belong.", she snapped.

"Olivia is my choice and I wouldn't undo it for anything or anyone. Besides, my political future's looking better than ever now."

"What makes you say that?"

"The Republican Party has caught hell and high water for being stuck in its ways and non-inclusive. The way I see it is as those signs at the amusement parks only instead of 'you must be this tall' it says 'you must be this rich or this certain ethnicity to ride'. Now, _**if**_ I run for any sort of office…"

"If?"

"…_**if**_ I run for any sort of office, particularly that nice Oval shaped one, the American people, _**all **_of the American people would see me as a different brand of Republican, not just because I happened to fall in love with a black woman but because I actually give a shit about what they give a shit about, not what the government thinks they should."

"What do you mean?"

Fitz walked through a tan beaded curtain and pulled a thick black Velcro sealed folder out of the left hand drawer of a desk. His gaze flicked over to Olivia and she met him on the hunter green couch, the both of them looking between a taupe armchair and himself significantly. 'Eerily in-sync', in the words of the notes Ballard had taken, notes he had kept from Big Jerry's peering gaze.

"Shoes.", she said before he could step out of the tiled vestibule.

"What?"

"Take your shoes off. They go in the white cabinet there." Fitz clarified while pulling out stapled packets.

"Are you serious?"

"You're more than welcome to mop up whatever essence of NYC you've tracked in because I sure as hell am not doing it…or you can just go back to Darth Big Daddy Grant with nothing. It's up to you. Lose the shoes or step off."

Apparently, Olivia was the dominant one in the relationship when it came to facing perceived threats. Her interaction with Mellie and the WWF smackdown she laid on the Cosby boy proved that. It was also apparent to Cyrus that if he didn't do what she said, Fitz would shut down in deference to his wife... partner…personal bodyguard? What was the dynamic there? And just what the hell was in that folder, those packets?

Feeling the creak in his knees, he put his shoes away and sat down across from them. Olivia pressed a kiss to Fitz's cheek and walked down the short hallway, the pale peach door shutting behind her with a quiet snick.

"She's not staying?"

"The politics are in my jurisdiction unless I directly ask for her help."

"You should ask often. She's sharp as a tack." Cyrus advised while picking the first packet up from the stack.

"I know. That's why I married her. You want something to drink?"

"Red wine, if you have it."

"Liv loves it, so yeah. Go ahead and read."

The first packet contained the Deficit reports from Reagan to Bush the Son. After that, there was what looked to be a thesis on the pros and cons on each presidency's methods. Taking from that information, Fitz had come up with his own proposals for reductions, increases, and the potential use of the capital involved…

"This is…_**you**_ did this?"

"All by myself… you should never rely on one source of Intel and after getting it, you need to check it. Knowing Big Jerry the way I do, he painted a picture of me being a wet behind the ears, weak spoiled child who wouldn't know how to do anything useful politically without a 'strong guiding hand' in the form of himself and his trusted advisers, including yourself. Am I right?"

"You are. Thank you." Cyrus conceded while accepting and taking a sip of the surprisingly good boxed wine.

"No problem. I know that he sent you out here to try and undermine my marriage and to get in my head so I would be nice and pliable to his puppeteering again. None of that's happening."

"Obviously."

"Cyrus, I'm going to level with you. Barring a major health or legal crisis with myself or Livvie, I have every intention of getting into the 2008 race. And winning. However, I'm doing it on my own. I don't want Big Jerry's stink on anything and I want as little dirty politics as possible. I know it can't be a completely clean campaign. Hell, it's national politics. If there's not a little mud, you're not doing it right."

"Damned straight. What are you getting at?"

"When the time comes, I want you on my campaign. If things go well, I'd like you to be my Chief of Staff or Director of Communications. Actually, my ideal would be for Olivia to do it but I don't think America's ready to be shaken up that much. We're already changing the traditional look of a First Lady. Let someone else change the traditional role."

"Like Mellie?"

"If Mellie gets into 1600 Penn as a First Lady or god forbid, a president, I'm taking Livvie and everyone else I truly give a damn about and fleeing the country until it's over. Well?"

"What's the wife think about this?"

"I don't know. I have to ask her."

As if it was coordinated, the door opened again and she came back out in a fluffy pale yellow robe, running a white towel over her damp hair. Tucked in her pocket was a silver comb and she placed a jar of hair grease on the coffee table, along with a bottle of detangler. She passed him the comb and bottle before pulling an indigo pillow down for her to sit on. She opened the jar and held it up like a mini stool. Cyrus' brows kissed his hairline as Fitz set to work, separating the hair into sections and putting the grease on her scalp.

"_Mother of God_…you really _**do**_ love her, don't you?"

"Yes. Livvie, what do you think of Cyrus as a part of my administration?"

"What part?"

"Chief of Staff or Director of Communications."

"You need someone with experience and the right kind of ruthlessness to keep things running smoothly behind the scenes. You have strength but for the ugly underside of things, you don't have the stomach for it. I'm not saying that in a bitch or Big Jerry way but it's true. Besides, if he's in the administration, then he's highly motivated not to do anything stupid to undermine it, including trying to break us up in the name of the Grand Master Plan. It's a good choice but it has to have conditions."

"Conditions?" Cyrus asked her directly, having realized and accepted that she was the X factor.

"Only one, really. If you're on the campaign and in the White House with him, then you're with _**him**_. Whatever you've got going on with Big Jerry or anyone else gets pulled up by the roots and burned. There's already going to be enough people outside trying to screw him over. He doesn't need a snake in the garden, too. If you're in, you're ride or die, win or lose and everything afterwards. Can you do that?"

He certainly could.

He knew history makers when he saw them, heard them.

Separately, Fitzgerald Grant III and Olivia Pope were game changers.

Together, they were history makers and he wanted to be on the right side of history.

Above all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Happy Friday, everyone. And now, it's time for the 2007 Trail. I've been looking forward to writing something like this ever since I started watching the show. This is gonna be a lot of fun.**

**And to address Chapter 12's stand out Olitz scene: my main Olitz domestic headcanon (other than them having a bit of an S&M swerve in their giddy-up) is that FTGIII knows his way around a black woman's hair. Liv eventually taught him the basics because he insists on messing it up while he's getting at her and since FTGIII's supposed to be like a super nerd, he threw himself wholeheartedly into it and excels at it. It was also a point of comedy ala Cyrus' reaction and a matter of fact show of acceptance, affection, and trust between Liv and Fitz. If I let my eventual dude touch my hair, I'm dead serious about him and us. If I let him do my hair (if he shows a genuine interest…I'm not about to force him to oil my scalp), I'm dead serious about him and us enough to make and raise babies with him. It's just another way of putting me into this Liv…**_**damn**_**, that sounded wrong. Apologies…**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**June 2007**

**_"…in my opinion, the most interesting candidate on the Republican side is Fitzgerald Grant III out of New York. He's coming out of the academic circuit. He's never held a major political office. He's stayed local and he's open about his views on green energy, gay marriage, the deficit…hot button issues. And the fact that he's happily married to a woman of color…Sally Langston may be the first major female candidate and that's nothing to scoff at but the candidate to watch is Grant."_**

**_"All I know is that it's gonna be an interesting Presidential Race and an interesting time to be an American voter…"_**

* * *

"Momma?" 5 year old Fitzgerald Thomas Grant IV asked tentatively.

"What is it, _**dulce?**_"

"What if someone hurts daddy? I saw a picture of a little kid saluting at his daddy's funeral and he was a president, too…I don't want someone to hurt daddy."

Olivia stopped and turned to face the bed. Ger was sitting up against the headboard and his cerulean slate doe eyes were solemn, shining with unshed tears. The black of his pajamas matched part of the red and blue tartan pattern on his quilt and on the curtains of his astronomy themed room. She sat on the edge of his bed, making sure to keep his gaze and to choose her words carefully. She wanted to be honest but at the same time, she didn't want to scare him further…

"You know...I'm scared of that happening, too. Your daddy is a good man to us and lots of people but there are others out there who aren't gonna like him because of the way he sees and does his job."

"And because he's pink and you're brown and I'm café au lait?"

She nodded and his little face twisted in disgust, his lower lip jutting out in a slight pout.

"That's _**silly**_. Just because someone's a different color or loves a different color than theirs doesn't mean they're bad. It's like getting mad 'cause you like Hawkeye and I like Batman. They're both cool so what's it matter?"

"Ger, sometimes you make more sense than a lot of adults around here. Maybe _**you **_should be running for President. Daddy could be your Vice President."

"Momma, I'm too little!" he laughed as she stroked his wavy black coils.

"You won't be forever but you can do whatever you want when you get big enough. You can be the president or a dancer or even an astronaut, although I'd worry myself sick about you…"

"I wanna to do computer stuff like Uncle Huck and Auntie Quinn!" he told her enthusiastically.

"Oh, lord…okay, you can do that. Just promise me you won't end up in jail or a cyber-fugitive."

" 'Kay. G'nite, momma. I love you to Saturn and back." he yawned as he made himself into a blanket burrito with his left foot out.

"Saturn and back, baby boy. Sweet dreams."

Pressing a kiss to his brow, she rose and headed for the door. Looking back at him, she smiled as he started to snore and turned off the overhead light. Stepping into the hallway, she pulled his periwinkle and white door to an ajar position (in case he had to get up for the bathroom) and looked to her left.

"I think I handled that well."

Fitz nodded and she took his outstretched hand as they descended the stairs. After 2 years of marriage, Olivia had handed him the positive pregnancy test with his morning paper. In a repeat of the end of their first encounter together, he had hugged her from behind. Then, he had gone outside and shouted to the neighborhood that he was going to be a father. Laughing, she had chased him outside with a pair of sweatpants and told him to put them on before he ended up on YouTube in his boxers.

At last count, the phone provided video of them had a little over 900,000 hits.

Anyway, after she had gotten pregnant, they had decided to relocate to a split level home in Brooklyn. It was 3 bedrooms, 2 full baths with a kitchen and a finished basement. Fitz had left the decorating to her so like their old place, the walls stayed the original color (slate gray with white trim) and the doors in painted various colors. After moving their stuff in, Ger's room had been set up by all of them.

He had been born on a sunny May morning, arriving after 12 hours of labor. 8 pounds, 4 ounces, healthy and strong. Harrison had compared him to a butterball turkey. Quinn and Abby had gushed over his chubby cheeks and the amount of thick hair on his head. Huck just held him, looking at the entire group like the only mission he had was to protect them all, no matter the cost.

Andrea Soileau-Pope had arrived with a homemade crocheted soft orange swaddle and a Ziploc bag full of lemon cookies. Kingsley Pope had brought her a bouquet of tulips and one of his homemade scrapbooks turned into a baby book with Fitz's help. Both of them held Ger tenderly, marveling at their first grandchild…

His sisters Cora and Jacqueline had sent huge care packages, along with cards. His mother Miranda had called from Tokyo and 2 weeks later, her own care package had arrived, the large stuffed dragon within it still slept with and cherished by Ger. Even Cyrus, the King of Mean, had sent a care package, along with a case of very good Merlot.

Big Jerry had been conspicuously silent, something that the media had pounced on. At the end of the storm, he had retired from the senate and sent a card with a cheap, American flag based pacifier…when Ger was 6 months old.

Needless to say, they had been less than impressed…

"How do you feel?" she asked him after they settled onto the couch.

"Excited. Nervous. I want to get started, already. Be out there."

The Trail would officially kick off that Saturday, the first stop in Trenton, NJ.

"You're ready."

"Are you? I know that you want to support me in this but…I need you and Ger to be okay."

"I'm rock solid and Ger will be okay. He's strong like his daddy and if something's bugging him, he'll let _**everybody**_ know. Loudly."

"Wherever did he get_** that**_ from?" he asked with an innocent shiteating grin.

"Bite me, Flyboy."

"Gladly.", he purred before getting fully on top of her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: I can't believe it's June, already. It seems like only yesterday I was wiping sleet off my glasses. I'm glad you guys are digging FTGIV and I can tell you right now that he won't be an only child. I don't know if his little sib will be made on the Trail (most likely, given how Liv and Fitz get down) but since I'm a sucker for kid fics and family fics, both reading and writing…yep. Enjoy the chapter!**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"…_**approval numbers for Grant are at 48% and holding…"**_

"…_**like how he's being real with folks. If he doesn't know something, he'll say so and if he does know, he'll break it down in a way that doesn't make anyone feel stupid. Most politicians talk out their necks and from a script but he doesn't. You can tell that he actually gives a fuck…"**_

"…_**good showing at the Nebraska debate with Langston. She took it in the end but once they start hitting states with low conservative numbers…"**_

"…_**youngest candidate to run. If elected, he'll be entering the Oval at the age of 36. While that is impressive to contemplate, we have to wonder if that youth will be an asset or liability in the long run…"**_

"…_**family is beautiful. I saw them at a rest stop with their little boy playing airplane…it took me back to my childhood. And just the way the two of them look at each other… there's a lot of love in the Grant/Pope-Grant household and that is damned fine by me…"**_

* * *

**5 Weeks into the Trail- Family Time on the Road…**

"_Triangles or rectangles, __**dulce**__?"_

"_Triangles, please. Where are we again, Momma?"_

"_Louisiana. Do you remember what it looks like on your map?"_

"_Uh-huh. It looks like one of daddy's NAVY boots…I like your hair. It looks like Simba's."_

"_That's what happens when humidity gets to it. Am I a pretty lioness?"_

"The prettiest…"

His favorite sets of eyes snapped to him and lit up like sparklers.

"_**Daddy!**_" Ger cheered around a mouthful of fluffernutter, sprouts, and strawberry jelly.

"Hey, buddy, Livvie. Mind if I join you two?"

"Not at all." she replied while patting the booth cushion. Although there was an official campaign bus, they had invested in a black and silver RV for their family. It was spacious and Olivia had done her utmost to make it feel like home for all of them. Ger had taken to road life like a duck to water and the Press loved him. Him _**and **_Liv, for that matter.

A year into their marriage, she had established a firm called Olivia Pope-Grant and Associates in Lower Manhattan. Essentially, along with Harrison, Quinn, Abby, and Huck, they were a big roll of duct tape to the elite. If there was a crisis brewing or a scandal bubbling over, OPGA was on the speed dial. She had gained a reputation of being no-nonsense and a fighter to the end. Harrison dubbed them 'Gladiators in Suits' and it fit well. Through her work, she had gained the respect of many heavy hitters, heavy hitters who weren't afraid to talk to the media…

Cyrus nearly broke her in two (and his evil reputation) after one of her former clients convinced his boss, a CEO of the one of the leading solar panel producers, to not only endorse the campaign but also give a hefty donation.

Women coming from _**all**_ races and backgrounds absolutely adored her. They liked her work ethic, her colorful style, and most of all, the way she loved 'her boys'. Wives and mothers in the public eye were sometimes withdrawn, some to the point of appearing frigid but not his Livvie, never his Livvie...

One of the most circulated clips had been after his opening speech in Trenton had gotten him a standing ovation and she strutted right up to him, grabbed him by the navy blue tie she had personally tied, and plunged her tongue deep into his mouth. The companion picture of him smiling like a dazed idiot as she grinned up at him was also a media favorite, along with the one outside the bus showing off their ink.

The GPS coordinates of the hospital and Ger's birthdate had been incorporated into the cuff via vines and silver outlined with black calligraphic script.

Footage of her and Ger having a lightsaber duel in the grass near a Tennessee rest stop, complete with her wearing a Darth Maul mask and his black military jacket like a cape had gone viral, the last 20 seconds of them both playfully tackling a hysterically laughing James Novak (a Washington Post junior reporter and Cy's…friend) to the ground. Pictures of the two of them sightseeing, watching his speeches, and them coloring in the huge 'Fun Facts About the USA' coloring book had also been added to the media mix, creating a collage of optics.

Those optics showed a devoted, fiery wife and mother and thankfully, the optics imitated life instead of vice versa…

"You done for the day?" she asked as Ger settled in his bunk, his headphones in with Spongebob on the portable DVD player.

"Not quite. Cy wants to go over a couple of things for Iowa over dinner tonight."

"And he wants my input."

"We all do. A mind, especially a sharp one like yours, is a terrible thing to waste."

"Flattery will get me pregnant again, Professor Grant.", she teased with a waggle of her brows.

"It's not flattery if it's the truth…and I would _**love**_ to get you pregnant again." he declared while resting a tender hand over her AC/DC shirt covered womb.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Funny you should mention that. Ger just told me a couple of days ago that he wants a little sister for his birthday. I was kinda expecting him to ask for a puppy but…a little brother or sister doesn't seem like a bad idea at all."

"You mean it, Livvie?"

"Absolutely. Being an only child had its merits but it got lonely at times, especially after my super brain decided to make its debut."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Hi, everyone. And the beat goes on. We've got some more Olitz/FTGIV cuteness in the beginning of this chapter before we get a little more serious behind the scenes. Strong, smart Fitz is making an appearance and people are gonna be paying attention, especially a certain Machiavelli.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"…_**landside victories for Grant in Iowa and Missouri. Texas, up next…"**_

"… _**seems that the majority of his endorsements are coming from companies that produce eco-friendly products. It's fitting since he has been known for his environmental activism with his wife and it raises interesting questions on how an elected Grant would handle the country's ongoing energy and fuel transitions…"**_

"…_**Sally Langston coming under fire for an anti-LBGT blurb recorded in the Chicago area. Her approval rates among female voters are still above 50% but her numbers are plummeting across the board. Is her campaign about to go the way of Santorium's? Time will tell…"**_

* * *

**10 weeks on the Trail- "I've never had a price tag on me before ..."**

"_Come jump with us, momma!_" Ger called.

Olivia watched with pride as her son turned a mid air back flip inside the bouncy castle and she was seized with giggles as her husband landed on his ass as the result of a failed mid air spin. Said husband was promptly tackled by their howling little one and the ever present cameras caught their identical bright grins as they rolled apart. With a quick shoo gesture, Cyrus took over the conversation she had been having with a knot of recently returned veterans.

"A-are you okay?" she asked as he came to the black netted square window.

"I'm fine, Livvie. I'd be better if you came in here and kissed it better, though…"

She pressed a kiss to her index fingertip before pressing it to his pouting lower lip. His cerulean slate gaze followed her as she toed off her jade flats and she slipped easily through the door opening. The interior of the castle was in bright primary colors and she smiled as her boys pulled her into the center. They were both in black jeans, black and gray checkered socks, and their Grant for the People t-shirts. Ger's chin length hair was loose and blowing in the light breeze and Olivia tenderly brushed the errant Superman curl away from her husband's brow.

"You look really pretty." he murmured. "I like this."

This being a tan and pale rose tye-dye peasant's tunic and black capri leggings. Since it was getting to be the dog days of summer, she had put away her flat iron and let her hair stay in its natural wavy coils. Pulling out a large pink hair tie, she put them into a ponytail and started jumping with Ger, Fitz sitting and watching tenderly.

"Did you talk to him about my little sister yet, momma?"

"I did. We both think it's a good idea but it may take a while before she gets here…or he. It could be a little brother."

"That's okay. Just as long as I get to be a big brother, I'm cool. I'm gonna go see Uncle Cyrus."

"Okay, _**dulce**_. Stay where we can see you!" she called as he darted away, prompting a quick thumbs up.

Once she saw that he was safely with Cyrus (who promptly handed him a capri-sun), she turned her attention to Fitz. He was still visibly content but looking in his eyes, she could see that something was starting to get stuck in his craw.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"Hollis Doyle."

"CEO of Doyle Energy. Texan good ol' boy. Oil tycoon and Ted Nugent-esque republican. Why's he a problem?"

"Cyrus wants me to meet with him, see if I can get an endorsement or some money out of him."

"And what do you want?"

"I don't want a damned thing to do with him."

"Then, it's not a problem. When he shows up, tell him to step off and if Cy or anybody else gives you shit about it, they can step off, too."

"It's not that simple, Livvie."

"Isn't it? _**You're **_the one running for office. It's your name and face on the side of the bus and that means you've got veto powers. Why don't you want anything to do with him, though?"

"His business is oil. That's fine but some of his tactics have been deemed questionable. He's been brought up on violating several environmental regulations but thanks to his mile deep pocketbook and connections, he pretty much got off scot-free. He's also a driving force for adding another pipeline up north. He's the complete antithesis of what I stand for on that issue, what _**we**_ stand for on that issue, and accepting any sort of help for him could be seen as a betrayal. That betrayal could cost endorsements and more importantly, respect."

She absorbed that and prompted, "_**And?**_"

"And what?"

"Fitzgerald, your ears are cherry red. They get like that when you lie and when you beat around the bush in more ways than one. There's something else and you don't want to tell me because you think I'll think it's stupid or petty."

"Have I mentioned how much I hate how well you can read me, sometimes?"

"Many, many times, husband. Give up the goods or I'm going for your feet."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me.", she challenged while reaching for one of his very ticklish feet.

He quickly tucked them underneath him and after sighing said bluntly, "He's a good friend of my father's."

"And taking help from him would be just like taking a handout from Big Jerry, which is the absolute last thing you want to do… Fitz, it sounds like you've already made your decision. Now, you just have to stick with it."

_**/**_

"That…was a disaster."

"To you, maybe. It went exactly the way I wanted it to."

"Fitz, you just let a 2.4 million donation walk out the door!"

"2.45 million, Cyrus and I don't regret a cent of it. Neither should you."

"Do you have any idea of the connections Hollis Doyle has in the party? _**Both **_parties?"

"Absolutely! I come from the loins of one his main ones. Cyrus, I don't want anything to do with his money, his shady business practices, or his 'upcoming' pipe line, which won't be upcoming at all once I'm in office. He'll have to wait until I'm gone and probably until I'm dead, afterwards."

"Cut the crap, Fitz! This about spitting in your father's eye, as always! First, Olivia and now…"

"_**Enough!**_"

Fitz stood up and got right in a now pale Cyrus' face, speaking in a low, venomous calm.

"This is _**my**_ campaign. Not yours or anyone else's. You are here because I hired you and I can just as easily fire you. Not because you're disagreeing with me. That, I don't mind and I actually welcome it. Sycophants are useless. I could easily fire you for disrespecting myself and my marriage. I am not stupid. You've seen and heard that. I am not a wayward child that needs to tamed. I am not a puppet to be played with and I am not a product to be bought and sold at your leisure. I've never had a price tag on me before and I sure as hell am not putting one on me to satisfy you or the Yosemite Sam knockoff that just swaggered out of here. I am not a blue light special for anyone…okay, I am one for Olivia but that's an entirely different and thoroughly satisfying story."

Cyrus' face twisted at that and he sat down on a nearby chair, shaking his head with a combination of disgust, amusement, and dare he say it? Cyrus Beene was impressed. Fitz didn't blame him. Not many people had the balls to stand up to him, after all…

"You just _**love**_ to make my job difficult, don't you?"

"I'm just making sure you truly earn your paycheck. Hollis Doyle is not to have any ties to this campaign or my presidency…"

"Sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Damned right I am and you need to shut up and listen to me very closely: if you make a side deal with Hollis and don't you dare sit there and tell me that you wouldn't because I know you…if you go behind my back on this, it's the last thing you do professionally and in general."

"What, you'll kill me?"

"No, Olivia will. I'll just help her dismember, dissolve, and burn your remains."


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Good afternoon, everyone. Today is a very happy Friday for me because it's the day after my Big Chop of 2013. My hair and I…we have a love/hate, Fitz/Cyrus/Olivia relationship. When we're getting along, things are kosher but when we're not, it's WWIII. Since I can care for it best when it's short and I like how I look with it short, straight or otherwise, I had quietly decided to do it in July. My hair stylist said I could totally do it now and I am absolutely ecstatic. **

**I'm really glad that you guys are digging my **_**Shattering**_** Fitz, especially when it comes to sticking by his core principles. Canon Fitz does it too but sometimes, he gets on my nerves with his whole 'roll over and take it' attitude when it comes to Cy, Mellie, and especially Liv. I'm not saying that he doesn't have balls of steel because he certainly does but when I write him, he embraces them wholeheartedly and with NFTG at **_**all**_** times. This spine will pay dividends.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"…_**rumors of a Langston/Grant ticket have been circulating. Nothing has been confirmed yet but…"**_

"_**The democratic front runner is Samuel Reston…"**_

"…_**Grant campaign heading to California, his home state and former Senator Fitzgerald 'Big Jerry' Grant Jr. has invited them for a visit to Grant Ranch. Nothing like a family reunion…"**_

"…_**approval numbers for Grant have jumped to 77% since his impromptu yet impassioned words on the legalization of gay marriage and the revamping of immigration policies to protect families…"**_

"…_**a YouTube mini series titled 'I'm down with FTGIII' has gained traction. Individuals of various ages and backgrounds are using 3 to 5 minute videos to explain why they intend to vote for Grant in the national election or the 2012 one if Langston takes the nomination. A t-shirt has been designed and can be ordered via…"**_

* * *

**14 Weeks on the Trail: Family and Sacrifices pt. 1**

"Look, I know you two and Big Jerry have issues but he's only wants to meet Ger."

"He's had over half a decade to meet him. He didn't give a shit before. He's only doing this to get in front of the Media and I refuse to put my _**dulce**_ in the middle of…"

"We'll do it."

Olivia frowned and turned her head to look at Fitz with incredulous venom that he met placidly.

"Livvie, it's only for a day."

"It's _**never**_ just anything with that son of a bitch and you know it better than anyone around here! Fitzgerald, he'll..."

"Olivia, if we don't do it, he'll capitalize on the snub and that'll lead to bad press and bad optics for the campaign and since I've essentially been telling him to kiss my ass for years, he's been looking for ways to get revenge and…"

"…I get it. I hate it but I get it… fine. Your sperm donor can meet Ger but we'll be right there with them the whole time and the moment he drifts out of his lane…"

"…we'll give him the whole nine yards. I'm not going to let him inflict a fraction of the bullshit he laid on me on Ger, Livvie. I _**promise.**_"

"I believe you, baby. I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"_**Never**_ apologize for telling me what's on your mind, especially if it's about Ger's wellbeing…"

Cyrus stood up from his booth and exited the Grant Family RV, leaving the two of them to their inevitable make-up canoodling. Their little one was playing red rover with a group of children in the grassy field near the rest stop, looking every inch of a happy go lucky 5 year old…and future leader. After California, Ger would be returning to New York City for his first day of school, having tested into the 2nd grade. Andrea and Kingsley Pope would be his caretakers for the rest of the election process, as well as Olivia's network of Gladiators so that was one less thing to worry about. And contrary to popular belief, Cyrus _**did**_ worry about all 3 Grants. He had grown to care deeply for the family as individuals, not as political chess pieces. They were his friends.

They were the closest thing he would ever have to children and a grandchild…

His cell phone rang and he sighed before answering it with a terse, "What?"

"_Well?_"

"They said yes but they have no intention of leaving you alone with him for a second."

"_Figures. To them, I'm the fucking devil incarnate._"

"No, that's me. To them, you're just a manipulative old SOB with agendas within your agendas. Jerry, they don't want you touching the campaign and frankly, they don't need you. Hell, they don't even need me at the end of the day, not that I'll ever tell them that, of course."

"_Of course. Well, I'll get the staff ready for guests. Invite some friends over to meet my grandson."_

"Jerry, don't do anything stupid." Cyrus warned him flatly, already having an idea of just who he wanted to invite over…

"_When have you known me to do anything stupid?_"

"How much time do you have? I've got a whole phonebook to go through."

_**/**_

"So, I get to meet Gramma Randi's old husband?"

"He's your Grandpa Grant. Your daddy and you are named after him and his daddy."

"So, if you and daddy make a baby brother, he'll be the fifth?"

"Probably not. We'll leave the fifth for you and whoever you have babies with a long time from now. A _**really**_ long time from now…like when you're 35."

"'Kay, Momma. But, I'm confused. Why hasn't he wanted to meet me before? Auntie Cora lives in Athens, Auntie Jackie lives in London, and Gramma's all the way in Tokyo but they're always around, even just through the computers. California's not nearly that far away from home but I don't remember him being around. Is he sick? My friend Snake's grandpa is real sick in a nursing home so he hasn't been able to meet him and his sisters."

"…no, _**dulce**_. See…your grandpa and your daddy don't get along too well. He makes him really sad, sometimes. And your grandpa and I don't get along either. He makes me really mad because he makes your daddy really sad."

"Like that one time Uncle Huck got really mad and punched that one guy that made Auntie Quinn cry on her birthday?"

"Kinda."

"They really love each other like you and daddy love each other. They just don't kiss all the time like you two…so, you and daddy don't want Grandpa Grant to make me sad?"

"Yeah. And…he didn't want your daddy and me to get married at all."

"Because you're brown?", he inquired bluntly.

"I hope not but he really wanted someone else to be your mommy. Her name's Millicent and your daddy didn't want to be with her because she made him just as sad as grandpa does."

"But, _**you're**_ my mommy. He can't take you away from me and daddy! I don't want another mommy!"

"Wild horses and an AK-47 couldn't get me away from you or your daddy. No one's taking me away or making me go away, Fitzgerald."

"_Y-you promise?_" he sniffled, fear still blazing in his cerulean slate orbs.

"Absolutely. C'mere, _**dulce.**_"

_**/**_

"Hello again, Olivia."

"Hi, Mellie."

Like last time, Olivia let a long silence stretch between them and just looked at her. Even though she was now 36, Mellie had barely aged a bit. This time, she was in a pink one piece and snow white and red polka dotted sarong. Her hair had been cut and curled into a stylish bob and the sun provided natural highlights to the chocolate brown. Still though, the sugared arsenic kept her robin's egg blue eyes ice cold.

As Mellie looked her over, she could see bitter envy in them, too. Nadia Reacher-Grant's rings were securely on her left hand and she was in a classic snow white bikini, showing her well taken care of body and flaunting the stretch marks from her pregnancy. One of Fitz's old boarding school cardigans served as a cover up and her sleeves were rolled up to defiantly show her ink…

Ger's bright laughter made her break the stare and grin as she saw her Boys in the pool. Ger had a neon orange bathing cap on his head but like his father, he had on black trunks with an American flag design on the right leg. Fitz was grinning like a loon as he held him up and they went under, surfacing in the deep end near where Cyrus had put his feet in.

"You have a beautiful son."

"He's my _**dulce**_. How are things with you and…"

"I believe the Media dubbed him Twinkletoes and we're no longer together. I've taken up with a nice man in private security. Hal Rimbeau. I think he's planning to propose soon.", Mellie replied primly.

"Good. I'm happy for you." she replied as they stretched out on two far pool loungers.

"Are you?"

"Yeah. Mellie, despite my behavior last time, I don't have anything against you personally. My beef's with Big Jerry."

"Ah. Do you mind if I ask you something personal?"

"Depends on what it is."

"How do you…I mean, you're so young and you've made such a great name for yourself but now, you're giving all of that up to be a glorified housewife? You know, that's essentially what being First Lady is, right?"

"I may not be the First Lady at all, Mellie. It's a long Race and anything can happen."

"Oh, _**please**_. Everyone can see where the wind's blowing, even Samuel Resten. Why else do you think he's been putting out twice the attack ads against Fitz that he has for Sally Langston?"

"Because it's standard national politics, Resten hates Fitz with a passion, Sally Langston's no longer worth the trouble, and he's an utter and complete asshole?"

Mellie actually laughed at that and replied, "True. Still…how can you sacrifice so much professionally so easily? How is it worth it?"

"It just is. Besides, I'm not giving up a thing professionally. I still have my degrees and I'm going to be a Gladiator until I'm back in diapers. Even if Fitz is elected, I'm keeping my firm open and running it, even if it's from a distance."

"I don't think you would be allowed do that."

"I can and I will. DC and the American People will just have to swallow it whole."

"Huh. And being a mother, too? I've never liked kids."

"Then, why were you so hellbent on being with Fitz, then? He _**loves**_ kids and it was definitely a potential deal breaker between us. Are you saying that you would've just gone along with it?"

"Yes."

"…_why?_"

"Sacrifice is all a part of marriage, Olivia." she replied matter of factly, making Olivia's jaw drop in disgusted awe. Jesus Christ, really? _**Truly?**_

Was there something in the blueblood water out here or what?

"Thank _**fuck**_ that Fitz found me before he married you_…_ no offense."

"None taken. I can be woman enough admit that he's better off with you."

"Damned right he is. Jesus God, Mellie…"


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note: Hi, everyone. I've always said that my Muses are sadistic and enjoy it when I'm ill or in pain. Recently, I've learned that they like it when I do large scale lawn care. Although I ultimately ended up having to tackle a built up pile of moss/peat/ grass that looked remarkably like Chewbacca's fur, I had a great time. Vitamin D that isn't filtered through the glass block of my basement domain actually has healing properties. Who knew? LOL!**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**14 Weeks on the Trail: Family and Sacrifices pt. 2**

"Your grandson's an absolute gem, Jerry. You must be proud."

Big Jerry gave a pleasant smile to the socialite woman before turning back to towards the main patio. Ger had a large bucket of multicolored sidewalk chalk and a series of drawings began to radiate out from his claimed far left corner. An American flag, an outline of America itself with the states he's visited shaded in (35 and counting…), some zoo animals, his full name (in print and cursive), and a series of math problems, some basic and some not. The Novak kid had talked to him briefly but mostly, the authorized Press limited themselves to pictures.

He was left handed like Tripp and his hair was loose, the black/dark brown coils taking on highlights from the sun, a smattering of freckles already showing near his nose. He had inherited his mother's penchant for colorful clothes. After getting out of the pool and a quick lunch, he had been changed into an electric blue t-shirt, dark purple cargo pants, and on his feet were tiger print socks, matching the silly band bracelet on his right wrist.

What struck Big Jerry the most about him though were his eyes. They were large and fawn like from his mother but the color…those eyes were Grant eyes through and through. Those eyes had looked at him fearlessly and the kid already had a hell of a handshake…a leader's handshake.

Opening the sliding doors, he could see Olivia sitting on one of the off white cushions, watching over Ger like it was her sole purpose in life. She had put one of Tripp's NAVY shirts on over her swimsuit and a pair of leg warmers, also in tiger print. They did that a lot, coordinated outfits she and Ger. Sometimes, Tripp would get in on the act but it was mainly them. There was even a blog about it someplace…

"Hi, Grandpa." Ger greeted without even looking up from his growing drawing of Saturn.

"Hey, kiddo. Do you mind if I join you?"

"Nope."

Remembering Cyrus' words on the phone (and a certain _**promise**_ over scotch…), he looked towards Olivia, who nodded in approval, turning towards the 4th riding circle. Tripp was helping to exercise the horses there and from the wave of approving titters from some of the women about 10 minutes earlier, he had lost his shirt.

The boy always did like getting naked…one of the few things they managed to have in common…

"So, your first day of school's coming up…you nervous?"

"Kinda. Everyone in my class gonna be older and bigger than me but I still have my friends. They told me that as long as I didn't get all snooty and weird about being in 2nd grade without them, then we'd still be friends. Plus, Ms. Waters said that I still need to do kindergarten things so I can be book _**and**_ life smart. It's gonna be like being in two grades at the same time."

"That's a good way of handling things."

"It was Momma's idea. She has the best ideas. That's part of why we love her so much."

Olivia's cheeks tinted pink and the slightest of smiles curved her lips.

"I get it. Ger, what did your parents tell you about me?"

"That you're my Grandpa like _**grand-père**_ Kingsley and really good at politics but sometimes you make Daddy really sad and that makes Momma really mad. And you wanted Daddy to marry Ms. Vaughn so she'd be my mommy instead of Momma.", he listed calmly.

"…oh."

Transparency was the norm with the kid. That was something to remember...

The chalk was put down and Big Jerry swallowed at the all too familiar gleam of brilliant madness in the little boy's still fearless eyes.

"I don't want my Momma mad and I **_really_** don't want my Daddy sad. And I don't want a new Momma. The one I got is more awesome than ice cream and what happens when you put soda and Mentos together combined. As long as you're nice to them and stay nice to me, we can be friends. Okay?"

Again, Big Jerry looked at Olivia, who had turned back to them.

"Sounds reasonable to me."

All he could do was nod.

Ger smiled, gently patted his cheek, and went back to coloring in his dragon.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. I'm feeling a lot better than yesterday, which is good but I'm still off. If someone could just invent a way to take out one's uterus until needed and it would still work fine, I'd give them all the awards in the world. Anyway, I'm very glad that FTGIV's reaction to Big Jerry was well received. I was tempted to write him as cold and distant but just like Liv and Fitz have the right to make their own decisions on who they decide let in as friends/loved ones and out as enemies, so does their **_**dulce**_**. This chapter is little different and shorter than the rest being that it's all dialogue but I think it turned out well.  
**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**14 Weeks on the Trail: Family and Sacrifices pt. 3**

"So, I heard you showed Hollis Doyle the door."

"It seems that I'll have to borrow Livvie's switchblade so I can cut out my campaign manager's loose tongue."

"Cyrus didn't tell me. Hollis called me right after you did it. Said my boy was a damned fool."

"And as **_usual_**, you agreed with him."

"I did but not for the reasons you think."

"Oh? Well, other than the standards of me being a politically inept, sniveling soft idealist, why do you think I should've accepted anything from Hollis Doyle?"

"He's got a lot of influence down in Texas and with Cytron Electronics. He could prove to be a valuable friend in the long term."

"I'd prefer him as an enemy. He has money and influence in many areas but nothing major in DC. He wasn't offering help because he respects me or what my campaign stands for. He was trying to buy a president. I don't have a price tag on me now, I've never had one on me before, and I have no intention of putting one on me if I'm elected."

"You may have to. Some compromises just can't be avoided."

" I understand that perfectly but I'll resign before I compromise my core beliefs and my dignity. Loudly."

"For God's sake, Tripp! I'm trying to help you!"

"You're trying to control me. You don't give a rat's ass about me as more than a pawn so don't sit here and pretend otherwise. You may be a career politician and I respect you for that but you have never come close to getting into the Oval. Ever. You have no business trying to tell me how to be a World Leader when you've never managed to do it yourself. Why did you invite Millicent here? She has no place here."

"The Vaughns have been friends of this family for decades. You'd do well to remember that."

"They have been your friends for decades and she's moved on with her life quite nicely. Quit beating a long dead horse."

"I don't have a problem with you being married to Olivia Pope."

"Pope-_**Grant** _and we all know you do. Just because you're putting on a happy face for the sake of the Media and maybe Ger doesn't change the facts."

"You ungrateful little shit! Do you have any idea how hard I worked to…"

"I don't care nor do I want to know how hard you worked on your noble quest. It doesn't matter. You don't matter."

"It feels really good for you to say that, doesn't it, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant the Third. The third! Meaning that I am still your father and I still deserve an ounce of your precious dignity and respect."

"As a politician, I respect you and I acknowledge and thank you for taking the time to be a sperm donor but regardless of my name or yours, I do not have a father. I have a father-in-law and a political dragon that can sometimes pass as a positive father figure but I don't have a father. Nor do I want or need one in the form of you. Now, if you will kindly get off of this Bus, I need to finish this speech before meeting up with Olivia. Good night."

"Tripp…"

"Good. **Night.**"


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. And now for the chaser. Hopefully, I do this right. Although I've had to cut destructive folks out of my life before, I've never had to do it with a parent (my parents are kickass... a little weird but kickass) and given the Molotov Cocktail that Fitz and Big Jerry's relationship was…he's messed up right now. He has bluntly, a case can be made for cruelly, severed ties and obligations with his father who has been a steady albeit quite negative presence in his life and he's a little adrift right now. Thankfully, he has his family.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**14 Weeks on the Trail: Family and Sacrifices pt. 4**

His hands were shaking like leaves in a storm.

Over the years, Olivia had gotten to know her husband's body language and tells like a favorite novel. Cherry red ears and lingering gazes on her as she moved meant that he was turned on. Cherry red ears and glances at her through his lashes meant that he was trying to hide something. When he hugged her from behind, he was either excited or looking for reassurance that she was still there. There was a whole spectrum of kisses and when he calmly guided her out of sight, he needed a Minute with her. Their Minutes usually involved warm silence and tender touches, a way of grounding and freeing each other at the same time.

His hands were shaking. His hands were shaking and his eyes were shining with barely suppressed tears, his breathing deep and slow like during yoga. Something was wrong, very wrong and if she wasn't absolutely sure that Ger was safely asleep in bed, she would be panicking. In a mirror of their first encounter, she backed herself into a corner and he boxed her in, his right hand holding onto the wall firmly.

His lips pressed against hers, feather light and quivering, and she hugged him to her, getting up on her tiptoes to press soft kisses to his cheek and neck. In response, he buried his face in her neck, her hair falling over it like a curtain.

"What's wrong, baby? Tell me so I can help…please let me help you…"

"_Where's Ger?_"

"Sleeping down the hall. Do you want to see him?"

"_I __**need**__ to see him._"

Big Jerry. Whatever was wrong with Fitz right now had something to do with that fucker and crimson tinted her vision. She knew that coming here was a terrible idea. She just _**knew**_ it! Yes, yes…the Family Reunion angle had come on like gangbusters for the campaign. There were all sorts of new shots and footage for good Optics. And the still shot of the 3 of them with Big Jerry, Ger shaking his hand with a soft smile was just gold. If he could, Cyrus would be turning back handsprings all the way to Indiana. With Republican voters, solid credentials and family values were everything and Fitz was giving them both barrels.

Coming here had the potential to be emotional poison, if not for Ger then definitely for Fitz. Even as she agreed, her Gut had started roiling warningly, urging her to prepare herself for the mayhem. It was only for a day but a lot of events can happen, a lot of pain can be inflicted in just 24 hours.

Sometimes, she really hated it when she was right…

Fitz sank down to his knees next to Ger's bed and picked up his little hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. The blanket burrito shifted and soon, he was half unwrapped and his head turned towards them. Wakefulness set in enough for him to wave at her and to give his daddy a gentle hug hello.

"Hey, buddy. Did you have a good day?"

"Mm-hm…meeting Grandpa Grant wasn't that bad. He was nice to me. I thought he'd be mean. He had mean eyes sometimes but I guess that's what happens when you get old and you're all alone, right?"

"That…I never thought of it like that, Ger. It makes sense."

Fitz's voice cracked and Ger sat up on his elbows, his little face taking on a hard edge as he picked up on the situation.

"What's wrong, Daddy? Did he do something to make you sad?"

"Kind of. I did it, really."

"What'd you do?"

"I let him go."

Olivia's brows went up in surprise. Well, then.

"Oh…well, shouldn't you be happy, then? He makes you sad."

"He does but…he's still my dad. I said that he wasn't but he is and…even if he's not hurt, I am. Does that make sense?"

"Not really…this is one of those things I'll get when I'm older, isn't it?"

"Yeah…sorry for waking you up, Ger-Bear."

"Don't be. You take care of me and Momma all the time. It's nice to help take care of you."

Olivia could feel much of the tension drain from Fitz's form they left their son to his rest. Ger had a way of putting things into perspective and a deep logic beyond his years in many ways. Fitz always claimed that it was all from her but she knew better. The book smarts came from both of them and the empathy, their little boy's way of getting through to anyone was all from his daddy.

"I was thinking of taking a bath. Do you want to join me?"

He nodded mutely. She knew not to push him. He'd talk to her when he was ready.

Once the tub was ready, she hit the button to turn on the jets and he pushed the dimmer switch down almost to the bottom. Turning, Olivia felt heat blossom in her lower abdomen as she took in his nude form. At 35, he looked ten years younger and she never got tired of mapping him with her hands, teeth, and tongue. His skin was silk over steel and always so warm…

Fitz crossed the distance between them in three long strides and drew her up against him in a sultry kiss, his hands sliding over her back fondly before going to the buttons of her shirt. It was his shirt actually, pale blue and washed until it was soft. The fabric parted and she cooed as he took her left breast into his mouth, suckling with tender urgency. Olivia untied the bows on the side of her black panties and he pulled them off of her, flinging them to the side carelessly. He picked her up with ease and they got into the tub, the fragrant soapy water soothing to both of them. She pushed away from him and he came after her, turning her around so her back was to his front. Her hands braced on the shelf as his thigh slid in between her legs and the tip of his tongue went from the center of her neck to the back of her ear.

"_Tell me what you need…tell me what you need and I'll give it to you_…"

"…_**you."**_

Olivia gasped as he opened her legs wide and slid into her roughly, his right hand gripping her neck in a loose grip. Arching her back, she used the motion of the water and his grinding, rocking hips as leverage to meet him halfway. His free hand went over her breasts and pulled her even closer, her head fitting in the space between neck and shoulder. Fitz turned her back around and surged harder, faster into her willing body, her nails digging hard into his shoulders. There would be marks in the morning and for a few mornings after.

She would be far from unscathed.

Her breath left her in a long scream as she succumbed and Fitz followed her over the edge with a raw shout of her name, his hands around her waist tightly.

Dazed, she pushed the button to turn the jets off and their ragged breathing could be heard in stereo as they moved to the far end of the large tub. Her head rested on his chest and he stroked her hair, detangling it with his fingertips…

"Why do I feel like shit for cutting him out? He's never flinched at doing it to me…"

"Fitz, you have a big heart and when you love, you love fully. Although he's been an utter and complete asshole most of your life, he is your father and at the end of the day, you love him. Letting go of people you love is always hard."

"He doesn't love me."

"I don't think that's entirely true."

"You're playing Devil's Advocate for a man you've frequently said you despise?"

"I'm not playing Devil's Advocate. I just…I refuse to think that any parent can hate their child and in his way, Big Jerry cares about you. Do you think you've made a mistake in cutting him out?"

"No. It's the right thing to do, at least for the foreseeable future but…it hurts, Livvie. It really hurts. I just keep thinking about Ger and I don't want him to feel like he has to cut me out to keep what's left of his sanity. It would kill me."

"Even though you two have a name and a profession in common…Fitz, you're not him and he's not you. You need to stop comparing yourself to him and you certainly need to stop being afraid of turning into him because you won't. I won't let you."


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: Let's keep the party going. Point of Clarification: Fitz and Big Jerry's relationship isn't completely stone cold dead in this story but it's definitely going to be distant with Fitz holding the majority of the power. Although I enjoyed 2x11, I didn't like how Ms. Rhimes portrayed Fitz as the petulant prodigal son throughout the episode (not to mention the 'come hither and fuck me' looks Mellie kept giving the good Senator…yee-_uck_!) so although he'll still have Daddy Issues, they won't take him down and make get all drunk and sad and stuff. His Livvie, his **_**dulce**_**, and the spine of unyielding steel that I've given him won't allow that.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**14 Weeks on the Trail: Family and Sacrifices pt. 5**

"Olivia, what the hell happened last night? Fitz looks like he's been put through a meat grinder and Big Jerry is 10PM drunk already. Did they have it out?"

"I don't know the exact details but apparently, Big Jerry stuck his nose where it didn't belong one too many times and Fitz shut him down permanently. This visit is the last one."

"Shit…okay. This can be Handled."

"Cyrus, this has nothing to do with the Campaign. This is a family matter and Fitz is Handling the situation just fine. Big Jerry knows better than to go public on the Rift because he knows full and damned well that Fitz would tell it all and he'd come out looking like an ogre. Remember that whole cluster when Ger was born?"

"I do. Vividly."

"Multiply that by 10. Leave it alone."

"Liv, I'm not…I'm worried about _**him**_, not the campaign. Oh, don't look so damned shocked. You two idiots and that kid of yours has given my prickly Tin Man self a heart, you know that. Olivia, is he okay?"

"…no. Not right now but he will be."

"Soon?"

"I don't know."

"Shit."

_**/**_

Big Jerry being Big Jerry insisted on hosting a big goodbye breakfast for the campaign and for the allowed press. Even as they posed for another Family Reunion shot, even as she set up Ger's plate, his Livvie stayed within reach of him. He hadn't slept the night before. Dozed but sleep wouldn't come, his brain and heart still in pitched combat.

Logically, he knew that Big Jerry wasn't going to change. Logically, Fitz knew that changing was out of the question for him. He wasn't going back to being his father's puppet, to being _**anyone's**_ puppet. The Grand Master Plan was thrown into the abyss and he was all the better for it. Without worrying about puppet strings, he had found niches as a soldier and as a professor. He had found the absolute love of his life and had made a beautiful, fiercely intelligent little boy with her. She wanted to make and raise more babies with him. He was running for the highest office in the Land because _**he**_ wanted to and he was doing it the way he wanted to. Big Jerry had been a source of financial security when he needed it but overall, he was the worst kind of poison. Poisonous things and people needed to be cut out.

His heart was screaming with guilt and the deep irrational fear that what he did with Big Jerry would happen with Ger. He was supposed to love his father regardless, wasn't he? How could he say that to him and mean it? Okay, he had ample reasons why, justified and otherwise but still…that was blood. Blood was supposed to be thicker than water, wasn't it? And Ger…

"All right, that's it. Ger, go find your Uncle Cyrus and stick by him until it's time to go…thanks, _**dulce**_."

He met Olivia's thunderous gaze and she pointed at him, keeping him silent.

"You. Up. With me. Move it. Don't make me make you."

Fitz blinked once, twice and stood up from his seat, following her back into the main area. The look on her face parted the crowd and he heard someone whistle lowly before starting speculation about what he did. As the Laundromat Smackdown had proved, Olivia was not a person that you wanted to provoke. She was fierce but mostly, she let things roll off of her, preferring to find humor in situations and defusing them before they blew. But, when she didn't let it go…

She turned around and after placing her hands on his shoulders, slammed him very firmly against the wall and slid her knee between his legs so it was mere centimeters from his genitals. If he tried to get away before she was ready for him to, he'd be seeing stars and not in the good way at all.

"_Look at me._", she hissed.

He did so immediately, watching as she visibly calmed herself and feeling relief as she moved her knee. She had asked him to teach her some self defense moves 6 months before and her knees…he loved to kiss them and feel them against his sides as they made love but…**no.** Never, ever again.

"You have got to let it go."

"I'm trying, Liv."

"Please don't make me quote Yoda at you, Fitzgerald. It's too fucking early and overused."

He snorted and her hands slid down to his chest, allowing him to put his arms around her petite waist.

"I'm not being reasonable about this."

"You shouldn't be. It hurts."

"Still."

"Being unreasonable isn't the problem. It's letting him get back in your head that's the problem. You are not him and we are not your parents and Ger isn't you. What you had to do isn't going to happen 20 years from now. What is going to happen is that we're going to leave here, we're going to get back on the Trail, you're going to kick Resten's ass and be the best damned president the good ol' US of A has ever seen and after that, we're just going to live and be us with our kids until you die underneath me from a sex induced heart attack when you're 98. Okay?"

Fitz laughed and nodded, kissing the brilliant smile off of her lips.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. These last few days have been absolutely bonkers. I went to see my big sister at her new place and had a mini slumber party with our mutual friend. During that time, my maternal grandfather came up here out of the clear blue sky to find our family. Before he did, he ended up wandering 120 miles off of the address he had for us and the police had to bring him to our home. He's back home safe now but dude forgot most of his medications that he needs so now, we've got to scramble to get them to him before he goes into a diabetic or heart attack. We also have to figure out how to help him long term because the relatives around him are sick and nearly dead themselves. And today, my father's hernia had a colossal temper tantrum so now, he's in the hospital for observation overnight. What's gonna happen next is anyone's guess but right now, I feel like Ms. Rhimes has taken over the script pen for my life and I do not like it, not one little bit. Here's hoping that it gets better soon…**

**18 Weeks on the Trail: Enter the Bible Thumpers…**

Georgia Senator Sally Langston knew that she had gained a Reputation in the political world.

She was known as a throwback to Prohibition age politicians, a Bible Thumper, a "right wing nut job", and most recently and offensively, "Ted Nugent in Drag". She wasn't a vain woman by any means. The Good Book discouraged that heartily but still, Ted Nugent? She was also seen as inflexible, snobbish, and Puritanical. Some individuals even cringed at the very idea of her in the White House, where she was needed most, where she deserved to be after so many years of loyal service to her God and Country. As the Bush Administration's rays began to sink below the horizon after 8 long years, she knew that it was her time. The Party needed a new face, a new candidate, a new image of soft wholesome values. She was that Face and she would be the First Female POTUS, shattering that Glass Ceiling for all the other ladies out there…

Professor Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III had initially been dismissed by many. Just another bright eyed, wet behind the ears Senator's son trying to play with the big kids. All right, he certainly had a sharp political mind in that perfectly coiffed skull of his. A series of papers had been published under his name, providing thorough, objective analysis of the Presidential Administrations from Reagan to Bush the Son. They were a part of the Lexicon now, cited by individuals in the poli-talk arenas and even by major news affiliates, such as CNN and the BBC.

On top of that, he was a veteran. The records he had set during his time as an Air Force had yet to be beaten and he was decorated for valor. Still, an academic with a gun, an academic with a gun that just barely met the minimum 35 years old age requirement for the Presidency…surely he wasn't a threat…

His opening remarks in Trenton, NJ…the sheer popularity of his African-American wife and mixed race genius child…the way that the youth, the eco-hippies, and even some staunch Democrats flocked to him...

He spoke with conviction. He spoke like he actually gave a damn, a rarity nowadays. He could be one half of the first interracial couple in the White House, the other half being Olivia Pope-Grant, Fixer and White Hat Wearing Savior of the New England elite…

Sally could see the tide turning further and further away from her every day, her road to the White House being washed out and sent adrift. There was no way for her to salvage her campaign enough to go toe to toe with Grant again, much less Samuel Reston. She knew that. She had accepted it and now, it was time to regroup.

She was still determined to be the First Female President of the United States.

However, being the First Female Vice President of the United States would suffice for now.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, Sally? It's not too late to salvage things…"

Billy Chambers. He was cut from the same cloth of Republican as she was and had a ruthlessness that she lacked. He was fully committed to the Campaign, staying even as others left but surely, he wasn't _**that **_naïve?

"Billy, it's the only way. Unless Grant drops out of the Race, there is no conceivable way for me to get the Party's Nomination. We lack the time and the money to revamp the Campaign and the snippets those reporters got from me are still out there, spreading the backlash further. I'm not giving up on being the President in general but I am for this Race."

"But merging the campaigns? How do you even know Grant will go along with it? Not to mention Cyrus Beene…"

"One of his prevailing themes is unity. A united Party, even on the surface, is pure political gold and he would be a fool to pass up on the opportunity to gain the Conservative votes."

"I don't like it."

"I don't either but it's better than throwing in the towel completely. "

_**/**_

"It's 11PM. Do you know where your spouse is?"

Once again, Cyrus marveled at how Fitz's attention snapped to his wife's like a dog spotting a squirrel he'd like to chase down. Langston and Chambers' brows went up as well but it was probably more because of her current attire than her words. Olivia was in a plum purple cotton nightgown and her hair was wrapped in a large American flag headscarf, her aquamarine painted toe nails catching the light of the back conference room as she walked forward.

"I thought you were sleeping." Fitz remarked warmly as she slid into the seat next to him.

"I tried but I can't sleep without you so for the safety of the Campaign and the general public, I decided to seek and find you, husband. And I did. Yay, me."

Fitz just kissed the back of her hand in response.

"Liv, what do you think about putting the campaigns together?" Cyrus cut in before their coupledom got too nauseating and/or naked for public consumption.

It was like flipping a switch. Olivia stood up and one could practically see the gears turning in her head as she started pacing in front of the small table. Gone was the soft, loving and playful wife and in her place was Olivia Pope-Grant, the Gladiator in a Suit and the apolitical Wild Card he had grown to adore and dread…

With a nod, she stopped and faced them, her words slow but confident.

"I think it's a good idea. Not only will it allow Fitz to focus on Resten fully, it'll also add to the Glass Ceiling angle you've got going on. Interracial First Couple and a female Vice President…that's some MENSA level optics if handled correctly and it eliminates a threat for the re-election run in 2012. Of course, there's going to be friction. Sally's an old school, right wing Republican and Fitz…well, the closest I can get to describing him is a RINO with a twist of liberal Democrat hippie lime…"

Cyrus couldn't decide if Fitz's mock offended face or Chambers' somewhat crazed giggle was more amusing.

"…but that can easily be worked around. Not to mention, Sally still being on the ticket will make women and the all the way to the Right people happy because they'll still have a powerful voice in DC and that'll get more electoral votes. I'm not saying that the popular vote isn't important because it certainly is but electorals are where it's at. George W. knew that in the 2000 election which is why he had his Florida family do some voodoo on both so he'd win."

"You actually buy into that conspiracy theory?"

"You _**don't**_? Wake up and smell the Dirty, Cyrus!"

"I'm up to my crow's feet in the Dirty all the time, Liv and you know it! So…we're going forward?"

"You're asking the wrong Grant.", she chided flatly.

All eyes went to Fitz, who after a minute declared, "Let's do it."

He extended his hand to Sally who shook it with graceful, ladylike enthusiasm.

"All right, then. You can have your husband back, now.", Cyrus said with a dismissive wave.

"Thank you, kind sir. Make tracks, Flyboy. I'm sleepy."

"Good night, everyone.", Fitz called over his shoulder as he led her towards the door.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Cyrus rolled his eyes at the all too familiar sound of their lips meeting. One thing he had yet to get used to with the Grant/Pope-Grant marriage was just how tactile they were, how warm and open they were with their affection. Handholding like pre-teens, kissing like they were about to be caught out after curfew, and…

"They really love each other, don't they?" Sally asked softly.

"Yeah. It's nauseating."

"Marriage is a blessing from the Lord, Cyrus and obviously Olivia is a complement to her husband, a helper and touchstone. That bodes well for our Administration. A happy Leader is a more effective one, after all."

As much as it pained him to agree with the woman who bathed in Baby Jesus' tears, Cyrus could only nod in solidarity.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Well, it's definitely Summer in my area. Humidity through the roof, 79 degrees before noon, and there's already been a couple of firework related house fires and the 4****th**** is over a week away. Yep. Gotta love it. Anyway, since things have finally calmed down (thank you all for your well wishes and prayers, they really helped!), I'm going to get back into a frequent update kick with my stories. **_**Road**_** will be finished soon.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"…_**the Republican Party has selected Professor Fitzgerald Grant III as their candidate for the National Race."**_

"_**Sally Langston and Olivia Pope-Grant spotted at a local mall in Tennessee. It seems that a friendship has been forged…"**_

"_**National approval numbers for Grant and Resten are at 51 and 49 percent respectively. The Debates are going to be the make or break point for both of them. While they have solid numbers amongst their respective parties and Grant has bipartisan support, the undecided vote is what they need to strive after…"**_

* * *

**20 weeks on the Trail: FTGIV's First Crush…**

"…_there's this new girl in my 2__nd__ grade classes that makes me feel…weird. Not like bad weird but warm, dizzy weird. Her name's Esperanza Diaz and her family just moved here from Mexico City. Some of the kids were making fun of her because she only speaks a little English and she was crying near Mr. Rosen's desk so I gave her some Kleenex and she hugged me and…it was __**weird.**__ Good weird."_

"Other than weird, how does she make you feel?"

"_I like that she's smart but she's not all crazy about it like some of the other kids in the group. She's shy and she blushes a lot and she smells like snickerdoodles, even after gym class and that's good. And every time someone's mean to her, I want to hit 'em where it hurts like Aunt Abby taught me to. And she's pretty. Like seriously pretty. Butterflies pretty. Like Momma pretty…she makes me feel confused and I do and don't like it at the same time."_

Olivia was torn between giggling and flying home so she could protect her baby's heart like the momma lioness she was frequently accused of being. Her _**dulce**_ was a Grant man, through and through and ahead of the curve. Most 5-6 year old boys were absolutely repulsed by girls and went out of their way to be mean. Ger was a sweetheart and had inherited his father's ingrained sense of chivalry. And apparently, he had also inherited his preference for smart women who just so happened to be of a different race…

"Son, you've got a crush. A big one."

"_Oh. Wait, aren't I too young for that? I don't have armpit hair, yet."_, their son asked with genuine confusion before checking for the referenced hair.

And that was the end of Fitz. Smoothly, she caught the tablet before it dropped and booted him in the side with her left foot. Ger was laughing, too but his ears were cherry red, indicating embarrassment and…other emotions. Other Grant man like emotions that he was far too young for and she was far too unstable to handle objectively. Her baby boy was supposed to stay her baby boy. He wasn't supposed to be getting red ears over a girl, even a nice sounding girl, and she was making no sense at all! Of course, he was going to grow up. That's what humans did. They couldn't stay children forever and crushes were a natural part of growing up.

But, he was still her baby!

"_**Dulce**_, the armpit hair thing is more for acting on the emotions, not for having them. You can have a crush but don't…"

"_Act like you and daddy? You guys are __**always**__ kissing on each other. I know that's part of how I got here and how everyone on Earth gets here but it's still icky."_

Ger being Ger, he had asked the dreaded "Where do babies come from?" question ahead of time and she and Fitz had decided to be honest with him. Neither one of them liked it when people gave them the runaround or outright bullshit. They weren't going to do that to their son. Storks and Cabbage Patches may be cutesy but they led to confusion and confusion led to them being grandparents long before they wanted to be. They were going to be real from the start so Ger would have the information he would need to make his decision. Fortunately, there were individuals of like mind through the World Wide Web so they had managed to give an age appropriate yet serious version of The Talk to their 4 year old.

The 'wait until you see armpit hair' caveat had been a joke…mostly. Not really. God, she was not ready for this! Her little boy was getting grown on her and the idea made her brain hurt, her heart clench, and she really wanted a glass of wine…or a shot of Jager. Or both. Both would work just fine.

"Exactly. Be her friend first and foremost and when you're ready, you can tell her how you feel, if you still feel that way. And don't get mad if she doesn't feel the same." a calmed Fitz advised him, Olivia nodding in agreement.

"_Why would I do that? Ranza's brain works just fine and if she decides that we're just friends, then we are. No big deal."_

"Ger, don't ever change."

"'_Kay, Momma…I have to go, now. __**Grand-mère**__'s gonna teach me how to make pie crust. Have fun in…where are you guys, again?"_

"South Carolina. Good night, _**dulce**_."

"_Saturn and back, Momma. Bye, Daddy."_

The tablet went back to its home screen and she fell back against the pillows with a groan.

"Damn…_**already?**_", Fitz asked while shaking his head.

"I _**know!**_ He's 5 but not 5 and…I've gotta do some digging. Diaz, he said?"

"Olivia Carolyn Pope-Grant…"

"Don't you Olivia Carolyn Pope-Grant me, Flyboy! Our son's got a crush and that's okay but I'll be damned if I don't find out everything there is to know about this Esperanza girl and her family and…"

Fitz's lips cut her off firmly.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: Few things feel better than payday when one has less than 5 dollars in their account. Bloody bank fees…but hey, it's in the black. In the black with 3.10 is still in the black so I'm happy. I'm also fanwoman, Gladiator happy because I got a TG fix ala Jimmy Kimmel last night and I got to do a little live stream commentary on my Tumblr again. I didn't realize how much I missed doing it…is it fall yet? Does anyone have a solid premiere date for Season 3, yet? I'm totally feenin'…**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"…_**the first debate between Resten and Grant will be at 7:30PM EST this Saturday..."**_

"…_**the YouTube series 'I'm down with FTGIII' has reached 500 videos with contributions from celebrities including Whoopi Goldberg, Kanye West, Bishop T.D. Jakes, and Lady Gaga…"**_

"…_**The Woman Beside the Man: Who is Olivia Pope-Grant airs on…"**_

"_**Kimberly Mitchell Live will be broadcasting an interview tonight at…"**_

* * *

**21 Weeks on the Trail: "We got hit by the Thunderbolt and never got back up…" pt. 1**

"Is that what you're going to wear?"

"Yes, Cyrus. This is exactly what I'm going to wear."

"And your hair…"

"The humidity would undo whatever flatiron voodoo I'd put on it, and the American People are going to have swallow it whole if they've got a problem. I am a black woman with black woman curves and black woman hair and since I've got it all, I'm flaunting it all. Case closed?"

"Case closed."

"Yay. Where's Fitz?"

"On his way up. I'll make myself scarce when he gets here but remember that the interview starts in less than an hour so…"

"We only need 20 minutes to get it on and popping." she informed him with sultry sass.

"_**Olivia**_."

"I'll make an effort but knowing Fitz…"

"Right. Well, no visible marks until after the interview. I mean it! You're adults on the national stage, not teens at the prom, for chrissakes…"

Olivia rolled her eyes with Cyrus related amusement and turned back to the vanity to finish her eyes. After deliberating for hours, she had decided on a pale gray cotton cami, an asymmetrical hemmed sheer white cover up that stopped at her hips, black skinny jeans, and her favorite pair of mint green heels to add a pop of color. Her hair was loose and carefully brushed until it shone, a small pearl white butterfly barrette on the left side that matched the studs in her ears. All that was left was her lipstick but that could wait until…

Their suite door opened and she stood up, turning to face her husband. He was growing his hair out and the dark silvery chocolate held a bit of blonde from the sun. His previously smooth face had just the right amount of shadow now and his cerulean slate eyes were even more piercing from the tan he had picked up.

The interview was informally formal so instead of a full suit, Fitz had on black dress pants, polished black dress shoes and an untucked pinstripe button down in black and…

"Okay, there's in-sync and then there's cutesy creepy. Did you two plan that?" Cyrus asked while gesturing between the stripes and her shoes.

"No. It just happened. We need the room."

God, the look on his face…her knees were starting to liquefy but she met his gaze full on, molten heat tunneling through her veins.

"You two are going live on national television in 52 minutes and 11 seconds."

"I'm aware of that, Cyrus. We need the room."

"You two are…"

"Oversexed and ridiculously love drunk?" Olivia guessed cheekily.

"_**Yes.**_"

"Isn't the fact that we're still hot for each other a good thing? Imagine having to deal with a national campaign _**and**_ a dead marriage. It would be a nightmare."

"That _**would **_be horrible. Not as horrible as watching you two moon over each other but…"

"We love you too, Cyrus. Now, seriously… get _**out**_." Fitz cut off while advancing on her like a predator.

She never minded being his prey.

The door slammed as he pulled their lower halves flush and she moaned just before he kissed her deeply. His large hands cupped her face and she whimpered as he suckled at her lower lip, forcing her tiptoes to work so she could get closer. His hands slid down and under her cover up and splayed over her back, putting them in full body contact. Olivia caught herself with her hands as he put her on the vanity (a small lamp shattering on the floor in the process…) and she locked her legs around his hips, meeting him halfway in a slow fluid grind. Fitz growled in response and rested his brow on hers, catching his breath.

"…_look so beautiful…you always do but…Jesus, Livvie_…" he murmured as he caressed her.

Although she had learned to take people's opinions of her with a grain of salt (especially coming from men), hearing that Fitz liked how she looked, feeling how much he wanted her, and hearing that hot honey in his voice filled her with fierce joy. Smiling at him, she undid the top buttons of his shirt and pulled him into another kiss, nipping and suckling at his lips, their tongues dancing…

The sound of her zipper lowering refocused her and she broke the kiss, glancing towards his watch. 45 minutes left…

"_Um, Fitz…"_

"_Yeah, I know…lift your hips."_

Her pants were yanked down to her knees and her neon pink zebra print panties untied.

"_Don't leave any marks…"_ she warned as she undid his belt and pants nimbly. They were on the clock and they were going to do this and it was going to be good...

"_**Why?**_" he asked with a hint of petulance that made her giggle.

"_Because we're about to go on primetime television and I can't be seen by the masses with a big, honking hickey on m-my_..._**ah**__!_"

He latched onto her neck defiantly and suckled hard, prompting immediate retaliation from both of them. After a while, both of their necks bore deep, hot evidence of their ardor and she licked at each one she could reach as they strove towards release.

Cyrus would just have be pissed off. There was a makeup department downstairs and she had a thin silver scarf that could be used to…

"**Stop. Thinking. While. I'm. Inside. You!**"

Each hard thrust into her was accented by breathless yelps and the slamming of the mirror against the wall. Olivia felt her channel begin to contract on its own and she yanked his head back by the hair, leaving another lover's wound where his neck and head met. He grunted and dug his right hand into her hip, leveraging her harder, faster, deeper against him. With a savage twist of her hips, Olivia threw her head back and screamed his name, his left hand steadying the back of her head as he kissed at her neck, moaning loudly against her pulse point as he succumbed. There was a series of clinking noises as they came down, her cosmetics and brush landing on the floor when he moved them away from the defiled fixture.

Both of them were panting and she couldn't help but shake as she took in the sight of them in the nearby full length mirror. Sex hair, sex glow, sweaty brows, rumpled but secure clothing and big stupid ass grins…teens at the prom. He came up behind her and hugged her, their lips meeting again happily.

"Good thing I didn't put my lipstick on yet or you'd look like you're bleeding from the mouth."

"I'm not sorry."

"You shouldn't be, baby…oh shit, we broke a lamp…and cracked the vanity glass."

"I'm not sorry about that, either. Your shoe is over there."

With wobbly knees, she retrieved it from the open closet and she could feel his hot gaze on her upturned bottom as she tried to finger comb her hair back into some semblance of order.

"Don't even think about it, Flyboy." she chided.

"Too late." he leered cheerfully, making her roll her eyes fondly.

"Well, don't act on it then. Not now, anyway. Have you seen my silver…?"

The scarf was draped over her shoulder and he eased her upright, turning her into one last brief kiss before leading her towards the door, satisfaction making her gait soft and fluid.

Another surge of heat went through her as he smiled at her and she suppressed the urge to fan herself.

He was too damned fine for her own good, sometimes…


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: Good morning, everyone. Don't you just hate it when a 45 minute nap turns into a 4 hour mini coma? I had a good day yesterday. Got my hair fixed, got to do more gardening, and I got to eat barbecue with my whole family. My big sister's still around and will be until at least Thursday and my Grandpa's still where he's supposed to be so…yay. I've got insomnia like a mofo now but that's good for the Muses, obviously.**

**Ms. Cy is certainly going to flip his zip when he sees Simba and Nala but not to worry, Olivia Pope-Grant is on the Case and it's Handled. The information, items and methods she uses for hickey hiding were found ala Google. **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: "We got hit by the Thunderbolt and never got back up…" pt. 2**

"**_Unbelievable!_** Look at you two! And I said no visible marks, goddamnit!"

"**_Louder_**, Cyrus. I don't think they heard you in Katmandu."

"I need some Vitamin K cream, foundation and concealer that matches our skin tones, green neutralizing concealer, yellow concealer, loose face powder, and a concealer brush. And a sponge. Yesterday."

"Where the hell am I supposed to find all that in 28 minutes?!"

"This is a major television show with major television show resources and supplies. Dredge up some charm, get what I need to handle this, and get back here or you can stand here and bitch at us for the next 27 minutes and 43 seconds until we go out there looking like veterans of a vampire orgy. Decide."

Fitz couldn't help but laugh at the look of thunderous disgust on Cy's face as he stalked towards the main makeup area. His Livvie gave him a crooked smile and tugged him towards a bank of lit mirrors. The scarf and cover up were tossed over a nearby chair and she pulled out a big brush from the purse Cyrus had nearly thrown at her. Silently, he accepted the brush and found a mini spritzer of water on a nearby station. Passing it to her, she poured a bit of detangler in it and recapped it. After a test spray, she passed it back to him and used the brush as he sprayed, taking her hair from wild sex to organized chaos after a brief period. Beautiful but…

"You wouldn't happen to have a banana clip in there, would you?"

Not only did she have a clip, the pattern had the same colors as her shoes and cover up. Excellent. In his peripheral, Fitz spotted a couple of camera phones and some surprised staffers but he kept focused on his task. With knowing fingers, he managed to twist and clip her hair into one of those messy updos that were always in the magazines. She turned and gave him a brilliant smile of thanks, a smile that he just wanted to…

"Don't even try it! Here." Cyrus snarled while slamming the supplies down on the station.

"Thank you and welcome to Hickey Hiding 101. My name is Professor Olivia Pope-Grant and this is my lovely assistant and hubby Fitzgerald Grant III. He's running for President but that's irrelevant right now."

Fitz laughed and after putting her things on his lap, settled into the chair. Gentle fingers tilted his head to the left and he gave a small wave to the growing knot of spectators and the cameraman who had picked up on the situation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've been there. Heat of the moment, all that blistering passion betwixt lovers and occasionally, there will be evidence left behind in the form of a hickey. A hickey, kiss mark, love bite, or bug bite is a bruise or bruise like mark caused by the kissing or sucking of the skin, usually on the neck or arm, in this case the neck. While biting might be part of giving a hickey, sucking is sufficient to burst superficial small blood vessels under the skin. Both happened tonight. And while having that little something to remind you is good for private times, it's not very good for public consumption, especially if you are in the public eye, which we forgot but that's okay. So, how do you handle it? Anyone?"

"Ice pack."

"Scarf."

"Turtleneck."

"Makeup."

"Exactly! Unfortunately, the window for an icepack has passed for me and Fitz and it's 78 degrees out still so clothing covering is not an option. Makeup is where it's at tonight and these supplies right here are just what you need to cover up your business from your friends, coworkers, bosses, and parents. And that last one is not an endorsement for underage sex so don't even go there…"

This time, Cyrus actually joined in the laughter and Fitz let his eyes drift shut as the tutorial continued, content to trust his wife and relishing seeing her in her element.

She had defused Cy and added more positive, playful Optics for the masses and the base to chew on.

And it was all natural. No gimmicks. Just Liv being Liv…

His Gladiator never ceased to amaze him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note: Hey, everybody. All right, it's time for the first part of the actual interview. Confession: I only started watching the show during the back 9 (I've been trying to watch all of the episodes but I keep getting sucked into the delicious, lamp shattering vortex of 1x06…) so I don't know much about Kimberly Mitchell's character but reading through other fics with her involved, I've got a voice for her that'll work. And we finally have a premiere date for Season 3. It's October 3****rd**** which is too bloody far away in my humble opinion but still…**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: "We got hit by the Thunderbolt and never got back up…" pt. 3**

Kimberly Mitchell stepped into the room selected for the interview and her brows rose at the sight of them in the far back corner. Professor Grant and Mrs. Pope-Grant were standing off to the side in silence, her back against a wall and their eyes locked on each other. Even as cameras flashed for still shots and staffers swarmed, they were completely still, completely absorbed by each other's presence. Feeling like a voyeur, she turned away and shook Cyrus Beene's clammy hand. Unlike the candidate and his wife, Mr. Beene looked like he was half a step away from an anxiety attack.

"Thank you for allowing me to do this interview. What are they…?"

"It's one of their Minutes."

"Minutes?"

"One Minute of them off to themselves. No words, lots of eye contact, and occasionally a kiss with an obscene amount of tongue and affection. It's normal. Well, normal for them. How's this going to go? Is this more about the campaign or them?"

"Them. People want to know how they met, their hobbies, and what college their son's going to…things like that. Fluff. You know, there's a very good bar down the block from here…"

"Trust me, I'll be paying their light bill after this. I just…he's got…It. And he's just what this backward yet modern country needs but the People have to see that. They need to connect to him and trust him."

"A lot of people already do. I myself plan to vote for him."

"I knew we picked the right show…"

**_/_**

**KM: How did you two meet?**

"_He was my 21__st__ birthday present."_

"_Way to make me sound like a stripper-gram, Livvie!"_

(All three of them laugh and a pink tinge remains on Fitz's cheeks…)

"_You'd make a killing. Anyway, I was out to dinner and I was spotted him with his squadron. He was just sitting there with a tumbler of scotch and big blue eyes and I was...I got hit by the Thunderbolt but I was too shy to just go up and talk to him so I decided on a different method."_

**KM: What did she do?**

"_It was an Indian restaurant and dance hall so she got on the floor and she had every man's attention in there immediately. She was in bright red, her hair was down, and she was…you could tell that she was genuinely happy to be out and just…I couldn't look away from her."_

"_You still can't."_

"_And I don't want to. I spent the next 20 minutes trying to find to a non-lame way to introduce myself but she handled that nicely. She looked me dead in the eye and did…what did you do? It was this twisting, DNA strand move with your hips and…didn't it hurt? It looked like it hurt."_

"_Only a little and it got your attention, didn't it?"_

"_It did."_

(A close up shot of their left hands entwining on the pale gray sofa can be seen, rings polished and matching tattoos clearly visible...iconic...)_  
_

**KM (warmly): So, you both got hit by the Thunderbolt?**

"_And never got back up…"_

**_/_**

**KM: Let's talk about your son. He's five, now?"**

(Fitz smiles and Olivia uses her right index finger to trace over the birthday and GPS coordinates on her arm)

"_Going on 30."_

"_He's always gonna be my _**_dulce_**_, even when he's all grown and hairy and trying to put me in a home."_

**KM: He's in the 2nd grade?**

"_Yes. He's growing up so fast…"_

"_Shut _**_up_**_!"_

"_He is, Livvie. You gotta accept it."_

"_I am. I just don't like it. At all."_

"_Mama Lioness…"_

"_I already bit you tonight, Fitzgerald. Do you want me to claw you, too?"_

"_Yes, please."_

"_Oh, my _**_god_**_…"_

(Kimberly Mitchell, as well as the small crew surrendered to mirth with the couple, the interview already shaping up to be one of the best...)


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note: Good afternoon and Happy Friday, everyone. First off, I'd like to start this A/N with a tip of the hat and hells yeah to KW who is now KW-Asomugha as of the end of June. She kept things quiet and classy (which is standard operating procedure with her) and Tumblr went BOOM when it all came out. Not to mention the rest of the media but as far as I'm concerned, if she's happy, then I am too. It's like what the Great Sassy Kingsley said during his DIE, FANGIRLS, DIE video: let them be great. Regardless of relationship status, she's still my favorite actress and so it's pretty much case closed in my big book of opinions. Go 'head, girl. Get you some happy and maybe you and the good football player can make some jam in the countryside down the line….**

**Unfortunately, there were a few ignorant ass people who were amazed at the fact that she married a black man (probably the same pack of ignorant ass people who are completely aghast at the fact that Olitz is a swirl couple…) and I've decided to be even more direct with that subject in this brief but hopefully enjoyable update of **_**Shattering**_**. **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: "We got hit by the Thunderbolt and never got back up…" pt. 4**

**KM: There are some individuals out there who see your marriage as controversial, not only due to the age difference but because you're an interracial couple. What do you want to say in response?**

"_The age difference complaint is new…"_

"_We're only 8 years apart, which isn't that bad when one thinks about it. I mean, Grover Cleveland and his wife were 27 years apart."_

"_Yeah but times were different then, Fitz. Girls could get married as early as 16 back in the day and it was seen as normal. Sometimes even earlier."_

"_True…I don't see it as a problem. Olivia and I communicate just fine where it matters and honestly, she's a lot older than me mentally to begin with."_

"_Oh, come on, Fitz!"_

"_I'm serious!"_

"_I know you are…as for race, he's just Fitz and I'm just his Livvie. I mean, yes, there are cultural differences and hang-ups we have to contend with sometimes but I can firmly say that whether he was white, black, or a one eyed purple people eater, I'd still have become friends with him and I still would've fallen in love with him because of the way he is on the inside…what?"_

"_One eyed purple people eater, Livvie?"_

"_With a handlebar mustache."_

(Her fingers draw the aforementioned mustache on her face and Fitz shakes his head, smiling in a 'my woman is crazy and that's why I love her' way…)

"_**Wow**__…"_

_**/**_

**KM: Have you addressed the subject of race with your son?**

"_Oh yes. He's actually the one who first brought it up."_

**KM (pleasantly surprised): Oh?**

"_He was about 3 and he came up and asked me one day, 'Daddy, how come you're pink and Momma's brown?' and Liv she…it was breakfast time so she got three glasses, put some milk in each of them, and got a bottle of chocolate sauce."_

"_I poured a lot in one glass and stirred it so it was chocolate milk and then I found one of my friend Abby's sifters, put it in the middle glasses and let the syrup filter through slowly."_

**KM: Biology class…**

"_Yes. Liv explained to him that people were like all the glasses. They could stand alone and be good or they can be mixed together and still be good."_

"_And then Fitz said that it wasn't what a person was like on the outside that mattered but it was what's on the inside. Whether he likes someone or not should be because of who they are and not because of what they look like."_

**KM: Have you two considered writing a parenting book?**

(Both of them look genuinely surprised at that question and a deep blush tints both of their cheeks as they look away from the camera modestly.)

_"Maybe we should..."_


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note: Hi, everyone. Sorry for the mini fall off. A long heat wave/severe storm one-two punch had me out of commission for just about everything. Stupid migraines. My monthly curse has kicked in so in order to take my mind off of it, I'm going to be Tumbling (there's some friction going on between some Gladiators so I've been making Olitz gif mashups to soothe. It seems to be working…) and I'm going to be betaing for a friend while writing for this fic, **_**Road**_**, and **_**Lock That Shit Up**_**.**

**PS: The kamikaze deer thing is based on two true stories with my big sister and my high school band director. The details may make you a bit squeamish. No real animals were harmed in the production of this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: Cinnamon and the Tin Man's Heart.**

"What's wrong, Cyrus?"

"Nothing."

"I was born in the morning but it wasn't this morning. What's wrong?"

"Liv…"

"She's not gonna let up until you tell her and I'm worried, too. What's wrong?"

Cyrus sighed and looked out the bus window, watching as the sky got its first hints of dawn. What was troubling him had absolutely nothing to do with the Campaign or the Grants, this time. He wished it did. He knew how to handle all of that. Find the Problems, Fix the Problems, Slay the Dragons, Roll with whatever Liv and Fitz's married antics caused, Keep things running smooth and Clean. Keeping things Clean was actually a challenge he relished. The back alley, bare knuckle mud wrestling was fun and a rush but a clean campaign was brain food. It forced him to think outside of his comfort zone and to innovate. Innovation led to progress and progress was always good…well, mostly…

"I kissed James."

Both of their faces registered surprise but there was no malice. Another reason why he was able to throw his hat in with Fitz and Olivia so easily was the way they just accepted people. Many people put on a show of tolerance for different races and sexual preferences but not them. The two of them were unrepentantly themselves (making a campaign for Fitz even more of a challenge…the boy and misdirection went together like peanut butter and gasoline) and they wanted, demanded everyone in their orbit to do the same. Years of conditioning kept Cyrus' cards close to his vest when it came to his private life but as always, the Grant/Pope-Grant household prompted exceptions to his Rules. Don't get attached to anyone and for God's sake, don't fall in…

"It's okay, Cyrus." Fitz said softly.

"The hell it is. Why _**now**_? Why him, of all people? He's a reporter, he's at least 20 years younger…he's like twelve!" he groaned with pinching his nose between thumb and index fingers.

"He's 37 and for all the old man jokes we lob at you, 56 isn't exactly one foot in the grave. Cy, how do you feel about him?"

"I don't know."

"The hell you don't."

"Liv…life isn't a romance novel. It's real and painful."

"Agreed but real and painful life still leaves room for romance. Sometimes it's difficult and there's always a risk of getting hurt but it's worth trying. And if it helps, James doesn't seem like the type to let someone kiss him without having feelings for them."

"Fitz, he's kinda a slut."

"Oh. Well, that's okay. Every good relationship has a slutty partner. Like me.", he replied cheerfully, an utterly proud grin on his face.

Olivia muffled her laughter behind her hand and Cyrus shook his head in the fond disgust that these two prompted constantly. He was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh and had even tried an extended relationship a few times back in the day but James…James made him feel different. The usual amount of calculation entered his mind but it was a different sort. What could he do to get a few moments (off the record, of course) to talk to him? He'd see a box of Hot Tamales and grab them, placing them in his bag or on his workspace, knowing that he'd eat them by the sackful if he could. Once, he had found him sleeping and taken off his glasses before putting an afghan over him. He'd play the Lightsaber video just to hear him laugh, to see his smile. If someone hurt him, Cyrus could feel red tint his vision and when he had to shut him down (after all, he was still a reporter at the end of the day…), he'd do it but it made his stomach roil…

"Thanks for that image, really…well, I guess I'm gonna have to talk to him, aren't I?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Shit."

_**/**_

A deer had run into the bus. A big, stupid, kamikaze deer had run into the bus.

Cyrus could only shake his head as he looked at the damage. Bambi had hit the front and went flying over the roof, loud bangs on the roof before hitting the pavement with a sickening thud. After the initial screams and the bus had come to a stop, a group came out to inspect the carnage. There was blood, a lot of blood, a big streak going over the windshield and onto the now dented roof. Shed hair blew off the roof and Bambi itself was on the road behind, a trail of blood and innards leading to its final resting place. Olivia had whimpered and then burrowed herself into Fitz's protective embrace. Fitz looked a bit green around the gills but had remained calm, focusing on coordinating clean up and comforting his 'Livvie'…

"_Oh_, _**God**_..."

James had embraced his reporter's curiosity and now, he looked ghostly pale. A greenish tint went to his skin and impulsively, Cyrus moved him away so he could spew if he needed to.

He had needed to. Wincing in sympathy, he rested a light hand on James' shuddering back and he straightened, removing his glasses and groaning.

"Lovely way to start the day, huh?" he asked while passing him the rest of his water.

He rinsed and spat before pulling out a pack of Big Red gum, their fingers brushing as he passed him a piece. James had a thing for cinnamon and heat.

That could be…interesting.

"I prefer a far less disgusting wakeup call. Other than Bambi, is anyone hurt?"

"No. Shaken up and disgusted but no injuries. I think Sally's putting together a prayer circle, though."

"For a _**deer**_?"

"Yep."

"Wow. Well, it's better that she prays for the dearly departed deer than my divinely doomed deviant soul."

"Nice alliterations."

"I'm a reporter and a grammar Nazi. It happens."

Charged, slightly awkward yet warm silence fell between them.

"…you kissed me."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Did you not like it?"

"Oh, I definitely liked it. I can't stop thinking about it. Why did you kiss me?"

"…I don't know."

James grabbed his wrist and Cyrus felt…something blossom in his stomach as he smiled slowly. Butterflies?

"I think you do."

"James…"

"Shush."

His lips were soft, tender, and sugared spice. He wanted more. He craved more from him…

"James, I…"

"We'll take it slow. That is, if you want to take this any…"

"Yes."


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: Hi, everybody. What time is it? Debate Time. As I mentioned earlier, I am a Back 9 newbie to the show so if Reston's voice is off, please let me know. I've been looking forward to writing this…**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: Reston vs. Grant Debate pt. 1**

"Reston's main arguments against you are your lack of major political experience and your age. He's making you out to be like a 16 year old with a brand new driver's license and he's implying that…"

"…I'll go out on the road for the first time and promptly run into a tree, a fire hydrant, and a bus full of singing nuns before plunging into the river, destroying both the car and the Republican Party's chances for a Head of State for at least a decade. Yeah, I get it. How do I handle it?"

"No matter what he says, stay on topic. Find a way to get back to the topic when he takes it off the rails. He's going to take every opportunity to get a shot in at you. Don't stoop to his level and for the love of all things Holy, don't hit him."

"Livvie, I wouldn't…"

"Due to your sperm donor, you've learned to take potshots at you personally like a champ. However, Reston's not going to stop with you. When it comes to defending my honor and Ger's, you turn into a caveman with a really big spiky club and I _**love**_ that about you. It's hot as hell but Fitz? Hitting him, even if he totally deserves it, will do nothing but prove his whole immaturity angle right and torpedo your numbers with the Base. Take a drink of water, do your yoga breathing, imagine me naked with my legs over your shoulder, I don't care. Just keep calm and carry on…what?"

"I'm imagining you naked with your legs over my shoulders."

"_**Now?**_ We're on an elementary school's grounds!"

"That's not a deterrent. In fact, now I have an image of you in a schoolgirl outfit…"

"_**Good-bye**_, Fitz."

_**/**_

"You've taught them well." Sally praised matter of factly.

"I haven't done anything. That's just them being Liv and Fitz." Cyrus replied in the same tone.

An ice cream social was typical, old school Americana. People showed up with their kids, their elderly parents, and brought their 'world famous' casseroles, salads, pastas. Setting one up had been easy. The Kimberly Mitchell interview had been a smash and Liv's 'Hickey Hiding 101' shtick had gone viral. People were chomping at the bit to see the Grant/Pope-Grant union live and in person.

Things had been going well. There were going to be at least a dozen pictures of them sharing a sundae (a sundae that accidentally on purpose had swirl ice cream as its main ingredient), Liv had taken off her mile high shoes to turn cartwheels with a group of preteen girls, and Fitz had a group of people in stitches with a story of his first yoga class and how he had ripped his pants, giving a prime view of Superman boxers…

Then, little Amber Kingston, blonde haired, blue eyed 6 year old Amber Kingston had gone from giggling to projectile, The Exorcist pea soup scene like vomiting. All. Over. Olivia. Olivia's pink and black polka dotted shirt and beige khakis were shot to hell and little Amber's mother, her single mother was completely mortified. Amber took one look at her new friend and started to wail in shame and horror…

Olivia just smiled and knelt gingerly down to the little girl's level, using her thumb to wipe her tears.

"_I…I'm so sorry!"_

"_It's okay, honey. Do you feel better?"_

"_Uh-huh…lots. You-you're not mad?"_

"_Amber, I'm a momma to my son and my husband. Trust me: this isn't the first or worst thing I've been covered in."_

"_But Mr. Fitz is a big person."_

"_Yeah, a big __**baby**__…"_

"_**Hey!**__"_

With laughter, an emergency hose down, two Grant for the People shirts, a change of pants, and a hug, the crisis had been solved. Little Amber was with her mother and Mrs. Pope-Grant, the epitome of grace and warm maternity was letting a new group of girls put barrettes and clip on ribbons in her hair. Fitz came onto the mat and the girls flitted away giggling, leaving them alone. When he moved forward, she scooted away until he grabbed her ankle and knelt down in front of her, both of them smiling. A well timed flash caught her pressing a soft kiss to his brow and Cyrus could already see it as a magazine cover or part of a high profile spread…

"…_**Instead of pushing Mellie off on him, I think you should just let whatever this thing going on with Olivia Pope run its course. Even though she's got a 40 year old's mind, she's still 21 with 21 year old impulses and Fitz is no saint either. Whether either of you likes it or not, he's still your son at the end of the day, after all. Once whatever novelties she's got wear off and that twentysomething wanderlust kicks in… you should certainly find someone other than Mellie because obviously he can't stand her but I don't think this fling is worth Fixing**__…"_

"…_**We got married because we love each other and that's not changing anytime soon**__…"_

If Fitzgerald Grant III had ended up with another woman, had he ended up with Mellie or someone like her, he'd still be a good man. He'd still be a good candidate but it would difficult. The American People liked a competent politician in the Oval but they also liked to see happy marriages, warmth and love. A dead marriage would've taken more energy and resources to handle than the Campaign itself, maybe even destroyed it in its infancy.

The "fling" with Olivia Pope had bore great fruit, better than anyone expected. Olivia had come into the Game and shook it to its core before improving it. She was a touchstone, a source of stability and rationality when it counted and she had conquered the world with her love for Fitz. She built him up, she kept him level, and made him _**happy**_. She had given him acceptance, a beautiful son…

"…_**He is the love of my life, regardless of whether he is the President of the United States or a janitor…."**_

If for some twisted, 2000 election reason that Fitz lost the Race, Olivia would be there. For better or worse didn't have a caveat with her. Being the President of the United States was a goal and dream for Fitz but it wasn't his end all be all.

She was.


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note: Hello everyone. Can you believe that it's August 1****st****, already? On the one hand, it seems like the year is going far too fast but on the other hand, this means that in a couple of days, we've got exactly 2 months until **_**SCANDAL **_**is back on the air which is awe-some. I can't wait!**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: Reston vs. Grant Debate pt. 2**

With a soft sigh, he shifted and looked out the window of his hotel room, spotting the first hints of dawn. Looking back at the stiff cocooned figure of his wife, he sighed and stood up, not even going to try and bother. Once a month, maybe and she would just…no, he'd just use his usual method of a frigid shower. Better the shower than the frigid wife, anyway…

It was D-Day. The First National Debate would go live in 14 hours, broadcasting to every American out there with access to TV and the internet. It was his time to shine, his time to show them all what he was made of and why he was worthy of leading the great nation of the United States of America. He should be excited, eager even.

Instead, Governor Samuel Reston of Maryland was…worried. Deeply worried.

If he were honest with himself, he had been worried for months, since the Trenton, NJ speech of his opponent. He had tuned in, expecting to hear youthful naivety blended with the usual Republican Party shtick but, no. Grant's way of speaking had a distinctive apolitical tone, possibly due to his apolitical wife, and he spoke without a prompter. There was shtick but very little naivety. He had a way of reaching the People that hadn't been seen in decades, comparisons were being drawn to JFK and even FDR. ..

The last thing Reston had expected was this. He was going into the First Debate on a split down the middle popular opinion and the hot glare of the Undecided Voter's spotlight would be on him…_**both**_ of them. Reston knew that he had what it took to lead. Like his opponent, he had been trained and groomed from infancy and unlike him, he was actually a politician, a _**career**_ politician. His marriage was palatable to the masses, Joan finally accepting and embracing her public roles fully. They would be a nice First Couple, traditional and stable…

What worried him was that it just may not be enough.

Fitzgerald Grant III was an academic, a scholar that had no major ties to DC (other than a long standing friendship with Cyrus Beene and his father's legacy) and some in the country could see that as an incentive to vote for him. Politicians always got the lion's share of the blame for the problems, justified or otherwise, and Grant portrayed himself as different.

**I am one of you…we're on the same level…I want to help you and future generations…**

For all intents and purposes, the boy meant it. After he had come up dry on new ammo points against him, Reston had turned to the wife. Olivia Pope-Grant was a potent force of nature, a multicolored, African-American, Category 5 hurricane. She had her own successful career as a 'Fixer' and had her own academic chops, allowing her to be done with all formal education by the age of 21. She was also known for her work in urban gardening, the small group (Verdant) she had started was now 500 strong with thriving gardens in all 5 boroughs of New York City. Briefly, she had been attached to Senator Edison Davis of Florida but her personal life revolved mainly around Grant, no infidelity to be found on either of their parts after their whirlwind courtship and snap marriage in 2002.

The only research he had done on Fitzgerald Grant IV was to assure that he truly was Grant's son but anyone with working eyes could see that he was. Other than that, Reston let it rest. The child was 5, a genius 5 but still 5. Plus, going after him and Pope-Grant for that matter could easily be seen as an act of racism and prejudice, torpedoing his campaign ala Santorium and Langston.

So, other than expressing his views, his only recourse was to subtly undermine Grant's credibility (a Herculean task on its own…) and to try and provoke an outburst of anger.

Or he'd definitely lose the Debate...and possibly the Election, too.

_**/**_

The sensation of a hot mouth on him immediately had him wide awake.

Looking down, Fitz could see his wife looking up with faux coquettishness and he groaned as she continued her ministrations. A common idea was that marriage ended sex, especially after children, but not with theirs. As years passed, the pull between them only strengthened and deepened. He wanted to be near her, kiss her, bite her (she loved it when he bit her) and he took any opportunity to touch her. She was warm and soft and sweet and… _**his**_. Of all the men she could've been with, she chose him to love and it never failed to amaze him…just like her tongue.

His toes curled into the sheets and he moaned louder as he noticed her fingers dancing nimbly between her legs. This woman…god_**damn**_…

She moaned back and her eyes fluttered, the slick sound of her fingers going deeper inside her making him throb more insistently…oh, god! Instinctively, his lips closed around her drenched digits and she cooed, taking him to the hilt. Heat began to electrify in his veins and he released her fingers…fingers that were now toying with his nipples just right…

"_Shit, Livvie…you're gonna kill me…need to be in you…let me __**in**__ you, sweetheart_…"

Her teeth grazing over him was far more effective than the negative grunt she made and he yielded with a shaky laugh. Who was he to deny her what she wanted? If she wanted him in her mouth, then in her mouth he'd stay.

He would give as good as he got.

_**/**_

Her man was quite a sight to see, his leanly muscled form glowing in the dawn sunshine.

After spinning him out, she had sent him careening over the edge with a shout of her name. Moaning happily, Olivia had kept at him, savoring every drop and licking him clean very slowly. Fitz had squirmed, bucked, and shivered, his eyes riveted to her as she worked. She was the seductress, the main source of his satisfaction and release. All 6'2 of him was willing, warm, and hers to enjoy and play with. When she pulled away, he was ready for Round 2 and showed it by manhandling her laughing squealing form onto the mattress.

Now, he was just looking at her, slowly fisting his length as he cataloged every inch of her. His free fingertips would occasionally toy with a nipple to make her moan or graze her sides to make her giggle. They would find her stretch marks and trace, causing them both to smile as she purred, embracing the tiger stripe viewpoint fully. His gaze made fire boil in her veins and sticky heat blossom and run down her thighs. Mirroring her earlier move, he had taken some of the glaze off of her inner thighs and offered it to her. Olivia accepted and suckled delicately, looking at him with soft submission as he moved closer to her, both of his hands now spanning her middle.

While she was fierce during their intimate times, sometimes she just needed to follow his lead. He was tender but urgent, needy for her body and determined to have his way with her. She was his woman, he was her man, and…

"_Spread your legs, Olivia. Spread them as wide they'll go. Show me what's mine…"_

His voice was honeyed baritone and dripping with lust like her. Slowly, she obeyed him, unveiling her sex like a stage. Her eyes were now on his erection, watching as it twitched and pulsed in anticipation of being in her.

"_Open yourself up._"

Licking her lips, she made a V with her index and middle fingers and did just so.

"_Do you want to be licked or fucked first, Olivia?_"

"_**Both**__…oh, baby…I just need you…please, Fitz…I need you to_…"

"_Do you want to be licked or fucked first, Olivia?_"

Head swimming, she shivered and let her sex brush against his strong thigh.

"_Fuck me, Fitz…fuck me __**hard**_.". she urged fervently.

His hands slid down and both of them groaned at the slick sound of their bodies joining. He pulled her hand away and pressed kisses to her wrist, licking at the ink there. She wrapped her other arm around his shoulders and hissed with pleasure as he withdrew halfway and surged back, hard like she asked. His weight felt delicious on her and she plundered his mouth, rocking and writhing with him. Over the past 6 years, they had been like this, thousands of times, naked in each other's arms during, after, before sex.

It would never get old. She would never be able to forget how he felt, how she felt against him, the all consuming emotions they provoked in each other. Olivia knew that they were fortunate, that any little decision made or unmade could've kept them apart…

"_**Fitz**_…"

"_Let go, Livvie…mmm…damn, you feel so __**good**_…"

She gasped and he held her to him as she climaxed, his head dropping down into the space between her breasts. Gentle fingertips traced cherry red ears and she clenched greedily around the pulses of liquid warmth filling her. Her man, her Fitz…oh god, **_yes!_**

When her vision eventually cleared, she looked up to see tender, devoted cerulean slate orbs and she smiled warmly.

"Hi."

The edges of those orbs crinkled in his own smile and his arms wound around her middle even tighter.

"Hi."


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Note: Good afternoon, everyone. 30 chapters, already. Wow. That is fucking awesome. It really is. Thank you all out there for your support. I write mainly to keep what little sanity I have left but knowing that folks actually like my scribbles makes things much more fun. I'm glad that last chapter's 'compare and contrast' angle with the Restons and the Grant/Pope-Grant's was enjoyed. Not to mention the spicy wakeup hurtin' our heroes put on each other…you know you've written something good when you actually blush in the process. I felt like 1x06 Ms. Rhimes when she had to go get some air in face of the Olitz dragon she unleashed. **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: Reston vs. Grant Debate pt. 3**

Once the suite's door closed behind him, Joan Reston climbed out of bed and promptly called for room service. She knew that it would be better optics if she came down for breakfast but she just didn't have the energy. She didn't want to pow-wow with the swarming campaign workers, she didn't want to have cameras and reporters in her face, and most importantly, she didn't want to get up and pretend that she was happy being a trophy wife for her upward bound husband.

She wasn't a trophy wife in the traditional sense: young, blonde, and ditzy. No, she was more like a checked off item on a list. When she first met Samuel Reston, she had been impressed by his drive and the charisma he wielded like a well taken care of weapon. He was Going Places, he had been a BOMC, and of all the girls that he could've had, he picked her to be with. Joan had no illusions. She was a small town girl from Arkansas, her time at UCLA being the first time she had been more than an hour away from home ever. She was pretty but not spectacular, easily dismissed and able to fade into the background…

Samuel had pulled her out into center stage. He had courted her, wooed her, and made her feel like all the fairytales she used to scoff at were possible. They had gotten married the summer after they graduated and had 2 grown kids, one a chiropractor and the other a mathematician. On paper, their marriage was successful, vital and solid.

Reality screamed otherwise. As Samuel's political ambition and accomplishments grew, their marriage had taken a turn for the neglectful. They rarely spoke in private, even to argue, and their intimacy was basically nonexistent. A kiss on the cheek for the press and the arm that used to make her feel so safe and wanted around her waist now felt cold and heavy. Sex was a chore, now, a duty to be fulfilled and endured. He just wanted what was between her legs. His eyes would stay screwed shut and any stimulation he gave her… any caresses were hollow, mechanical…

Bill was different. He was the polar opposite of Samuel. He was educated but had focused most of his energy on learning carpentry like the men in his family before him. He was roguishly handsome in her eyes and his hands…he was Warmth. He was Warmth to her. Samuel provided financial stability and an opportunity for prominence (how many women can say that they've been the First Lady of the United States?) but Bill…she missed him. And judging by the messages left on her personal cell and email, Bill missed her too.

She knew it was wrong to be having an affair. She knew that if it came out, that **_when_** it came out, things would never be the same but…she wanted Warmth. She wanted Care. She wanted to be Wanted, not just as a hole to come in or a wife to parade about but as…Joan. Consequences be damned…mostly.

After the Debate (and after she spent an appropriate amount of time soothing the sting of her husband's loss), perhaps she could head back to Maryland for a while. Yes…the strains of the Trail…she would need a break, an opportunity to get out of the limelight for a while. Samuel would put up a few token protests but Joan knew that he would be just as glad to be rid of her as she would to be gone.

With her around, he had to acknowledge, even just to himself, that a Reston could indeed be lacking, that he could miss the mark just as easily as any other man on the street…

Their marriage was a constant reminder of imperfection.

Their marriage was a failure, had been for a long time and it would remain that way, even if Samuel took over the World tomorrow like he so obviously ached to…

She desperately wanted out.

But, how?

**_/_**

As soon as she saw them together, her Gut started to roil in warning.

If she were completely honest, then Olivia would admit that Billy Chambers made her skin crawl. He was competent and affable but there was just something oily about him that made her hold her guard up with both hands. His blue eyes would sometimes take the same sugared arsenic gleam she remembered from Mellie and she didn't like the quick looks he gave when Fitz was doing his campaign thing. It was a well known fact that he was against merging the campaigns with Sally as VP but he was keeping in line for the sake of his own personal ambitions. It was better than nothing…

Amanda Tanner's cheeks tinted pink as Billy gave her a smile that would otherwise be charming and Olivia felt her Gut react stronger. Amanda was a nice, quiet, small town girl. She wanted to work on the Hill as an aide or in 1600 Penn as an intern. She was also achingly vulnerable. Checking into her background (SOP for anyone who joined the Campaign…) showed a broken home, a mentally ill mother and a sealed juvenile record involving drug use and underage sex…in public. Amanda was seeking warmth and validation plus she had an urge to prove herself.

A perfect little lamb for a big bad wolf to corrupt and then carry off. She may very well be too late to protect the young woman but she could still protect her husband.

Regardless of the new status quo, she did not trust Sally Langston or Billy Chambers as far as she could throw them and knew that they would remain a threat to Fitz. And Amanda Tanner could be molded into a weapon, a Monica Lewinsky sort of weapon. Oh, she knew full and damned well that Fitz would never let another woman touch him but…it only takes one good white lie to raise crimson Hell on Earth…

No.

She wouldn't allow it.

Nobody hurt Fitz on her watch. Not without consequences and definitely not without contingency plans.

Opening her phone, she pushed the 2nd speed dial.

"_What?_"

"I need help."

"…_what do you need?_"

"Thank you, Huck. Take down some info for me…"


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's Note: Good afternoon. Olivia Pope-Grant is certainly on the Case. I'm glad you guys appreciated the way I've written the Fixer (and I certainly wish Ms. Rhimes would take a hint) and Billy Chambers is going to be the snake in the garden that he is in canon (how cray-cray he's going to end up is still in the air) and he'll not be working alone. Don't worry, I have no intention of adding Rowan/Byron Douglas (I hated that plot line So. Fucking. MUCH!) into the mix but B613 as a whole…**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: Reston vs. Grant Debate pt. 4**

"So, you think Billy's got something in the works?"

"I do. I really hope that I'm just being paranoid but…"

"Livvie, your Gut hasn't been wrong before and I don't trust him either. I put up with him and Sally for the sake of the Base. I'm surprised that you're reading me in, though. Usually, you keep OPGA business to yourself."

"This isn't a standard situation and if I'm right, you need to be prepared."

"Have you told Cyrus, yet?"

"No. Like I said, it's just a theory."

"Should we…what about Amanda?"

"After we get good proof, we'll go to her and let her choose for herself. She's a grown woman and she thinks she's in love. If we go to her too early, not only won't she believe us, she'll tip Billy off and whoever he's in bed with, sending them all underground."

"You don't think he's working alone?"

"I know full and damned well he's not. Fitz, Billy Chambers is a Punk Ass Minion to the Core. Punk Ass Minions are dangerous and they _**never **_work alone. They have backing from someone substantial and they surround themselves with patsies that they can turn on in a heartbeat when things go South. Taking him down by himself would just chop off a Hydra head."

"Two more in its place…you need to get everyone involved out in the open."

"Exactly. Preferably before you get into 1600 Penn."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Just run your Race and I'll keep you posted. Fitz…"

"Whatever it is, you'll Handle it, Olivia."

"_**We'll**_ Handle it, Fitzgerald. We're in this together."

_**/**_

"I just…I want to know what's going on."

"With all due respect, sir…why don't you just ask them yourself?"

"Will you take the assignment or not?"

"…Yes. The son, too?"

"Yes. They'll probably return home after the Debate but I think you can get a seat tonight. Stay discreet and if you run into them…"

"I have never met you or Mr. Beene before. I understand."

"Good. You can go."

Bristling inside at the dismissal, Jake Ballard nodded and exited Big Jerry's office. The Grant Compound hadn't lost any of its splendor over the years but there was a tangible aura of loneliness about it. Other than staff, the only signs of other people being around were the photographs behind the former Senator's desk. Many of them were old, the children within them maybe 5 or 6 and there were wedding pictures, including the one with Olivia Pope-Grant securely in Grant's arms. There was a picture of the child, absorbed in whatever chalk world he had created on the patio…

Big Jerry only had his Legacy and alcohol left. It was sad when one thought about it. To have it all yet have nothing…

It was no use dwelling on that. He had an assignment to do or rather, resume. He was curious as to the new Endgame. Breaking up the Golden Couple was more than impossible now. What did Big Jerry want? Did he want to have ammunition against them in order to undermine the inevitable Grant Administration? It was plausible. Obivously, there was a deep rift between father and son and for all the hype about a woman scorned, having a family member scorned, a father wasn't exactly a stroll through the tulips.

_Scorched Earth, perhaps? If I can't be President, then **you** can't either, son…_

Jake never could really pinpoint where his disdain for Fitz Grant III came from. It had started during basic, when everyone around had an ax to grind with the Senator's son but never went away like with everyone else. For all intents and purposes, Fitz was a good man, competent and genuinely kind. He had never crossed the line during battle and he had done everything he could to get men back home, even taking a shoot down volley meant for someone else…meant for _**him**_.

From what he could glean, Grant had been MIA/Presumed Dead for 4 months while fighting his way out, possibly tortured as well. His report had been redacted but the end resulted in an honorable, medical discharge and being decorated for valor…

Simple jealousy, then. Simple, irrational jealousy. It was stupid, really and it wasn't like Jake was some bum off the street, now. He had been honorably discharged and was working his way upward through the Pentagon ranks in the Intelligence circuit. He was single but he preferred it that way. Women and families only complicated things, made one vulnerable…

In his true line of work, one couldn't afford to be vulnerable...


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. I took a day off a couple of days ago to go to the doctor to get a long overdue check up but I didn't. I just spent the whole day napping and doing my thang on Tumblr before annihilating two homemade bacon double cheeseburgers and turning on **_**Girl Code **_**(which is the shit. Watch it. For real…) under my favorite blanket and…yeah. Adult epic fail. I should've just gotten my ass up and gone to the damned doctor…or to work. Work would've been better. Work means money that I kinda sorta need. However, I feel emotionally stable for the first time in over a week so I think it balances out nicely.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: Reston vs. Grant Debate pt. 5**

Even through the shut and locked door, one could easily hear the moans, screams, growls, and whimpers. And the rhythmic, vigorous movement of the headboard and possibly the bed itself.

"Well, they certainly… _**enjoy**_ each other, don't they? It's the middle of the afternoon…"

"Yeah, and it's yet another reason why there's no one in the rooms next door to them."

"_Say my name, baby…"_

A long sultry moan and then a series of escalating cries of his name, blended with pleas for him to not stop, to go harder, faster, _**deeper**_…and now, there were 'I love you's…

"_**Fitz-ger-ald**_!"

"_God, Livvie__**, yes**_!"

"Perhaps we should come back later."

"I wish we could but we have at least 2 hours of prep to do in the less than 5 hours left before the Debate starts. You go on down, Sally. I'll get him."

After a final blended wordless cry of release, Cyrus waited 20 seconds before knocking very firmly on the door. The sounds of kissing stopped and promptly resumed, making him roll his eyes. While Fitz and Olivia were quite grown and usually very rational, their sexcapades and shameless groping of each other reminded him of freshly deflowered and overeager teenagers.

Using the side of his fist, he continued to bang heavily on the door even as the sound of one of them getting out of bed reached his ears. Now that they weren't going at it like lions, their voices were a low murmur and he could hear Olivia giggling.

"…_can't answer the door like that, you k'nucklehead!_"

What was he about to see? How much brain bleach would he need afterwards?

When Fitz finally opened the door, Cyrus blinked. Fitz's dark hair looked like a cross between Albert Einstein's and Art Garfunkel's. His hairy torso was shiny with sweat and covered in lip tint marks from his wife, as well as some half moon cuts where she had gripped his sides. His face was calmly dazed and while there was annoyance within them, his cerulean slate gaze was visibly content and very well laid. What tipped the comedy scale was the large gray pillow that he was holding to his lower half, shrouding his…business from view.

"May I help you?" he deadpanned while using his left wrist to wipe his brow, his tattoo visible.

"It's 2:30 in the afternoon on the day of your first National Debate and you're naked."

"The boiling point of water is 212 degrees Fahrenheit." he replied in the same tone.

"What?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we were playing state the obvious."

Olivia laughed harder and called from the bed, "_Fitz, quit being a jerk and let him in!_"

"I actually need him to come out!"

"_**Naked?**__ That should tip the Women's vote into 90 percent territory quite nicely! But, then I'd have to start killing folks and that would be_…"

"You two are gonna put me in an early grave, you know that? Cover up, Liv! I'm coming in!" Cyrus snapped over Fitz's guffaws. Following a trail of clothing and side stepping the knocked over but thankfully undamaged painting (the lamp and vanity had cost the Campaign an extra 450 dollars), he prepared himself for the sight of post coital Mama Lioness Liv…

She was sitting up with her head cocked, her dense mane of onyx hair mostly draped over her left shoulder. Her lower half was shrouded amongst the tangled wine and cream colored bedding and she had on a thin white …thing. It was a camisole but gauzy with white embroidered daisies on it to simultaneously preserve and threaten her modesty. Her already full lips were bee stung and she wiped the last of her red lip tint off with the corner of a discarded pillowcase. The sex and the afternoon sun gave her an angelic like glow and her doe eyes peered at him guilelessly, the dark chocolate taking on an amber tint. She was petite and just as visibly sated as her husband…

"Well, don't you look _**Playboy**_ ready." he remarked smartly.

"More like _**Cosmo**_ or _**GQ**_…I wouldn't if I were you."

Cyrus stopped before he could sit on the edge of the bed and gave her a _**look**_.

She shrugged unrepentantly and gestured for him to sit in the chair by the window. The gray pillow sailed towards her head but she caught and held it to her, blowing a raspberry. Cyrus pointedly looked away as Fitz settled his naked self back in the bed and waited for them to stop kissing before speaking.

"You need to get in the shower and get dressed. Sally's waiting downstairs and is probably rocking in a fetal position reciting the Lord's Prayer since you two destroyed her virtuous ears with your afternoon delight."

"Doesn't the Song of Solomon encourage that sort of behavior? Become fruitful and fill the Earth?"

"That's Genesis, baby. The Song of Solomon is a love letter with a bit of spice to it."

"Ah. I have to get up, don't I?"

"Unfortunately, yes. People are expecting a Debate tonight and we can't have it cancelled because you're not ready because you couldn't get enough of my honeyed brown sugar."

"Are you sure?" he leered cheerfully.

"Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III…" Liv warned in her 'Momma' tone.

"Yes, ma'am."

Smart man. Opening the bedside drawer on the left, Fitz pulled out a large towel and a clean pair of boxer briefs, wrapping the towel around his waist in deference to his presence. Cyrus had already learned the hard way that when Ger wasn't around, the two of them preferred to be in as little clothing as possible…

"Can I pick out your suit?"

"_Go for it! You usually pick out my tie, anyway!_" Fitz replied over the shower spray.

"That's because the ones he pick look like something Bozo wiped his ass with." Cyrus quipped wryly, sharing a conspiratorial smile

"More like Dr. Frank N. Furter. Hand me my robe, please."

Only after the yellow robe was belted did she come out from under the bedding and she was a little wobbly kneed. Given what he had heard, he was impressed that she could even walk. He supposed that she was used to Fitz's attentions by now and his…length and width. A rather potent length and width…

He may be in a committed relationship now but he certainly wasn't blind.

Olivia pulled out a plastic covered black pinstriped suit and draped a red, white, and blue striped tie over her right shoulder. Securing the suit to the closet door, she opened Fitz's largest suitcase and pulled out a crisply folded white dress shirt and matching undershirt. Putting the dress shirt on a nearby hanger, she tapped once on the bathroom door and it opened, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam and his left arm. She passed him the shirt and before he could close the door, she grabbed his wrist and turned his palm up. Slowly, she traced the lines there with a blunt black lacquered nail and Cyrus could actually see him shiver. Tenderly, she pressed a kiss to the heel of the hand and let her tongue flick dead center of the palm before letting go. Fitz's head stuck out and she grinned at the Nat Geo look on his face.

"…you're gonna get it later, Mrs. Pope-Grant."

"Bring it on, Professor Grant. Remember to shave. Nixon didn't shave and he got his ass kicked."

"He was also facing a Kennedy and refused to put makeup on. Plus, he was relying on solely the older and conservative voters to push him through."

"Points. Very good points. Still, shave your face, wolf man."

He slammed the door and she cracked up as he let loose an impressive howl.

"Hurry up, you idiot! Scram, Cy. I'll make sure he doesn't mount me until after you're done with him. Scout's Honor."

"You were never a Scout."

"Gladiator's Honor, then. Out, out, out…"

"Okay, okay. I'm about to OD on all the sugar between you two, anyway. You are absolutely nauseating."

"You know, I was hoping that having James in your life would make you less cranky."

"I'm gonna be a cantankerous old fuck until the grave, Liv. I'm just a less lonely one, now."


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. There are two crickets hiding and chirping in my basement domain, meaning I haven't been able to sleep well for the last week or so. I bought some Raid this morning so I'm just going to spray where I hear the most chirping and hope for the best. A sleep deprived CMW2 is a very, very dangerous one. **

**I'm glad that last chapter was well received and I'd like to extend a shout out to the Tumblr Gladiators because their antics for the last 48 hours have cheered me up considerably, making it easier for me to write. This one's a blend of serious plot and more of the type of humor from last time.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: Reston vs. Grant Debate pt. 6  
**

"What?"

"_You were right about a deeper connection Chambers and Tanner. Phone records show that they've been in daily contact since the beginning of the campaign and there are some texts."_

"Texts?"

"_Quinn says that they're the cliched couple type with pet names and phone sex elements but there are few that are obviously in code. Numbers and symbols. Cinnamon for Ger, Falcon for Fitz, Dragon for Beene, Messiah for Langston, and Red Baron for you…"_

"Red Baron? Are you sure?", she cut in sharply.

"_Is that significant?"_

"Huck, new name. Captain Jake Ballard. Put Abby and Harrison on fieldwork and use your DC contacts to get me a copy of his file. Redaction free, if you can. Fitz's, too. Tell Quinn to keep digging into Chambers and to send me some of the coded texts. I'll try to make sense of them on my end and hit you back with results ASAP. Gladiator meet up at the Spot when I get back to NYC. We'll compare, contrast, and go from there."

"_Aces. Tell Fitz we're all pulling for him."_

"I will."

Jake Ballard. He had been in Fitz's squadron group from Basic and had seemed perfectly normal, easily forgotten. She remembered him offering a dance and a drink for 'the birthday girl' but she had turned him down gently but firmly, saying that it was a night for herself. Of course, that hadn't ended up being the case…and now that she thought about it, she remembered seeing a flash of…something in his eyes when he came around back in the day. It was a blend of calculation, envy, anger…at the time, she had dismissed it. One of the drawbacks of her super brain was that sometimes it could see patterns where there really wasn't. It could get so caught up in the details and blow them completely out of proportion, sometimes leading to trouble. And her Gut had been quiet. Of course, her Gut wasn't infallible but…well, the past was of no consequence now. It was the present and presently, Jake Ballard was another game piece on whatever board game Billy and his masters were cooking up.

She needed more information. She needed to figure out exactly was going on and who the hell was involved before it picked up greater momentum. She needed to eliminate this looming threat to the Grant Administration.

Most importantly, she needed to eliminate this looming threat to her husband and son before they got hurt.

Or worse.

Dear God, _**anything**_ but worse.

She'd shatter like glass if worse ever happened…

_**/**_

"_What is she, your __**girlfriend**__?"_

"_I'm too young for a girlfriend. Ranza's just my friend. My best friend. Well, other than you guys, of course."_

"_My uncle says that a man and a woman can't be just friends."_

"_Well, then I don't have to worry yet 'cuz I'm not a man and she's not a woman. She's 2 years and 15 days older than I am but not a woman."_

"_Girls have cooties, Quatro. You'll get them."_

"_I got all my shots before school started and Ranza's not like the other girls so she's worth the cooties if she's got 'em. She makes sense."_

Jake couldn't help but chuckle as he turned up the audio. Observation of the boy had given him a schedule to follow and strategic places for bugs. Since he was supposed to remain low key (and he lacked opportunity for access), he kept them to the school grounds and the yoga/martial arts studio he frequented daily, under the watchful eye of maternal grandparents or "Gladiators". Right now, Jake was listening to his usual lunchroom table chat with two boys, a Jack (Snake) and a Nathan (Shady), discussing Esperanza Diaz, a 7 year old that had thoroughly captured Grant IV's interest.

Diaz's parents had immigrated legally from Mexico City 9 months before and the girl herself was a citizen, born in Chicago.

"_So, your dad's gonna be on TV in a couple of days. You cool with it?"_

"_Yeah. It's part of him doing candidate stuff and then they'll come home for a while. I can't wait for them to meet Ranza…"_

"_I read in my big sister's magazines that if a guy brings a girl home…"_

"_Shut __**up**__!"_

_**/**_

He knew it was completely immature but every time he caught Sally peeking at him with colored cheeks and Billy glaring with judging jealousy, Fitz wanted to crack up. Or flip them the bird. Or crack up _**and**_ flip them the bird. His marriage was warm and lively and he would have not an ounce of shame about wanting his wife. Through the years, he had learned a lot about his emotions and his libido. Both ran deep and both needed to be tended to frequently. Fortunately, Liv was cut of the same cloth, which lead to their afternoon romp in the first place.

The little minx had literally jumped him when he came in for lunch and slammed him against the wall, leading to the painting falling down and him nearly screaming as she took him in her crimson tinted mouth…

"Let's take a break, people! Fitz, get your head out from in between your wife's legs and in the game!"

"_But, he keeps in between my legs so warm, Cyrus and he keeps everything important from getting sunburnt since the sun never touches it nowadays_…", an innocent voice floated down from the upper level.

"Oh, for the love of…_**damn it, Olivia!**_", Cyrus scolded over the raucous laughter and catcalls.

Fitz grinned behind his glass of water, amused that now that both Sally and Chambers were blushing beet red as they walked off stage.

Looking up the center section of the auditorium, he saw his smirking Livvie descending the left side stairs through the departing, tittering workers. She had on a pink mid sleeved top underneath the original 'FTGIII' t-shirt. It was black with white airbrushed vines and roses going up the left side, the slogan in large lime green typeface, the same lime green on her ankle socks. Her hair was flat ironed and curled so it brushed her shoulders like black silk. Her right hand gripped some of the cream colored material of one of her many 'princess skirts' as he had dubbed them, and she was sturdy in simple black heels. With the white leather jacket draped over her shoulders and repainted lips, she looked like she was going to a modern day sock hop.

Adorable. Sexy and adorable…

"You are utterly and completely shameless."

"_**I'm**_ shameless? You're the one who put my nether regions into the conversational pool in the first place. What are you trying to do?"

"I am _**trying**_ to get your husband into 1600 Penn, into the Oval Office. I'm trying to get you **_both_** into 1600 Penn and this Debate…"

"…is quite important and leaves very little margin for error, I know. We all know. But, Cy? Sometimes, you just have to step back, calm down, and let things happen the way they'll happen. Not everything can be prepared nor can everything be Fixed. Sad but true. Now, he's ready and even if Reston kicks his ass, he'll make a good showing tonight and keep in mind that he has solid bipartisan support. Reston doesn't have that and that could be the tipping point."

"Liv, he's…"

"…standing right here, remember? Cyrus, she's right. I'm as ready as I'm going to get."

He truly was. He knew what he wanted to touch on in his responses. He knew where the cameras would be and where Olivia would be standing. She would be his anchor point. She was always his anchor point.

"All right. All right, I give. I'm gonna go find some scotch or James. Whatever's closer. We have less than two hours until showtime so I'm going to say it now: find your own hickey hiding supplies."

And away he went, leaving them in warm silence.


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. And now for the Debate itself. Much of this chapter came to me both while I was sleeping and in the shower yesterday and the 'amateur' taunt and response within here was inspired by **_**Head of State**_**, one of my favorite movies of all time…ALL TIME. After this, there will be another time jump.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**21 Weeks on the Trail: Reston vs. Grant Debate pt. 7**

"We need the room. Well, this section of the backstage.", Olivia Pope-Grant declared calmly.

"Liv, there isn't time for…"

" I only need a few minutes so shut the fuck up and scram, Cyrus. Take everyone with you.", she replied in the same calm but with a razor sharp edge.

Reston watched from the makeup station as Beene and the others immediately did her bidding with interest. Apparently, Hurricane Pope-Grant had a firmer grip on the Campaign than he thought. When she said jump… and yet, she wasn't a puppeteer. No. She made a point of fading into the background when Grant was in action or merely taking a supporting role, like in interviews. She could easily have taken over and he was almost positive that Grant would've let her (the puppy like way he was looking at her proved that) but she wouldn't. She was content to stay in her own niches and seemed to be absolutely repulsed by the idea of anything political...

"Livvie?"

She clasped his trembling hands firmly and the boy nearly melted against her as she drew him into a embrace. There it was. Her true power. For the first time that he had seen or heard of, a national candidate's shatterpoint and main source of strength was solely their spouse. Usually, it was a spouse and a drug. A spouse and a drink. A spouse and a mistress, mainly the mistress. Olivia Pope-Grant was the exception to the rule, many of the established rules, really. She had graduated with honors from college at a near obscenely young age. Her crisis management firm had remained a solid pillar in the New England political and professional circuits. She was a devoted mother, striking a good balance between that and the aforementioned firm. She was unrepentantly herself as a woman of color, carrying herself with grace and deep pride without being jarring to the status quo. She was _**remaking**_ the status quo…

"_I'm scared, Livvie._"

In response, her hands slid under his jacket and she tilted her head up expectantly. Resting his brow on hers, Grant kissed his wife tenderly and she smiled against his mouth. Had Joan ever done that? Had his actions towards Joan ever prompted that reaction, even in their glory days?

He couldn't remember.

"Even if you don't take the Debate, you'll still…looking at it objectively, you're a qualified candidate that reeks of transparency and empathy. Even though that has the potential to be problematic when tangoing with DC people and their minions, it's priceless when dealing with the People. People want to like who they're voting for. More importantly, people want to _**trust**_ who they're voting for. You've got both going for you. And if I didn't know you, if you were just a candidate on my TV, I would vote for you without hesitation or shame."

Pope-Grant would soothe and then she would fortify, an apparently foolproof method. Grant was practically at attention now and the tremoring hands were gone, a look of peace and resolve on his face as he looked at her and out towards the stage, the podiums, and the American People.

It was time to do or die.

"You know what you need to do and I'll be sitting with Cy and James. You got this?"

"I've got this, Olivia."

"Excellent. I love you, Fitzgerald. Go out there and show them who you are."

_**/**_

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Taking off my jacket and rolling up my sleeves."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Once again, all Cyrus could do was blink. Why not? Well, maybe because it was a formal National Debate. Or perhaps because if he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, it would show his ink. While it was good PR and optics on a personal standpoint, a tattooed candidate, a tattooed potential President in action on stage may turn some voters off. Reston would never think of…_**Reston would never think of**_…

Fitz's smug smirk was answered by one of his and with an approving nod. 'Grant for the People'. Him going out there with rolled up sleeves, a youthful appearance and form, and strong words would give an 'every day man' image. He could negotiate treaties during the day but then join you and your boys for a beer or two after 5. Plus, it was less likely for him to sweat like a pig through his clothes if he had on less layers, not to mention the sex appeal he would bring to the table.

_Use what you've __**got**__ to get what you __**want**__…_

Why not, indeed! Fuck it!

"I'll give it to Liv. She can put it back on you afterwards."

"Thank you, Cyrus."

"Good luck, Fitz."

_**/**_

Joan Reston couldn't look away from her counterpart. Olivia Pope-Grant had matter of factly put her husband's suit jacket on her lap before pulling out a fresh legal pad. Reaching into the leather jacket draped over the back of her seat, she pulled out a sharpie marker and a pair of pink horn rimmed glasses. The Debate was mere minutes from starting and apparently, she was going to take notes and mean it.

Cyrus Beene leaned over to say something to her and she bit her lower lip to muffle mirth, slowly doing the 'shame on you' gesture with her fingers as the man laughed openly. They were friends, family even. In contrast, her husband's campaign manager barely acknowledged her presence unless it was time for a photo Op or interview. She was willing to take the blame for it. Outside of bare minimum social niceities, she had never really engaged with the campaign workers and runners. It wasn't like she thought herself above them or anything like that but she hadn't really seen the point. Many of them she'd never see again after the Trail…

Watching Olivia Pope-Grant with Beene, watching her with Langston and Chambers, watching as she listened intently to a nearby reporter made her see it quite clearly. It wasn't enough to have connections. One had to cultivate them, maintain them, and make new ones…

The house lights flickered once, twice before slowly fading down. A split second later, the stage lights came on and the debate runner came out to polite applause, the severe looking woman sitting down at the long table amongst the media representatives. Like a switch being flipped, Olivia's face went carefully blank and the glasses went on, her eyes fixing on the podium on the right like an eagle.

"**Good evening and welcome to the first National Debate of the 2008 Presidential Race. Tonight will have Governor Samuel Reston of Maryland representing the Democrat Party**…"

Samuel came out with his posture straight, a glass of water safely in his left hand and a well rehearsed smile on his face. He had chosen a classic black suit and a tie with an American flag motif, not gaudy but rather bland.

Like him.

The applause as he settled at his podium was genuine, albeit concentrated mainly on the side they had claimed. And as usual, he looked right through her, instead of at her. Looking away from the stage, Joan could see that Olivia was clapping and had nudged Beene into doing it with a quick elbow.

"…**and Professor Fitzgerald Grant III of New York representing the Republican Party.**"

There was a tangible difference with Grant's entrance. The applause was louder and a little closer to equal sides, something that Samuel noticed , if the tick of his jaw was any indication. His posture was straight but his smile was warmer, the pink on his cheeks betraying a bit of nerves. A pair of round, wire framed glasses were on his face, magnifying the distinct blue of his eyes tenfold. Instead of a regular glass, his water was in a deep clay cylinder, jet black with child like white birds painted around the middle. When he placed it down, the initials 'FTGIV' could be plainly seen in neon yellow blunt script. That was a nice touch, a surprise if Olivia's madly grinning face was any indication. Had a candidate ever done that before? Joan couldn't remember…

Professor Grant looked over to where his wife was and she peeked up over her pink glasses, blowing him a kiss with candy apple red lips. The crowd tittered a little as his right fingers clenched as if he was catching it before settling onto his podium. A quick but potent expression of affection…

"**Each candidate has 2 minutes to answer after each question is given. Responses and rebuttals are 1 minute. Closing statements are 2 minutes. Time extensions will be granted if circumstances allow. The colored lights immediately to your rights will serve as time indicators for you both. Green indicates 30 seconds remaining, yellow 15, and red 5. Do you both understand these rules?**"

"Yes."

"Yes, ma'am."

"**And now for the Coin Toss. Heads or tails?**"

"Heads."

"Tails."

"**Governor Reston, you have the floor. The first question is…**"

_**/**_

"You expect the American People to put the country in the hands of an _**amateur**_?"

"I'm not expecting anything more than I've earned, Governor and I'd very much prefer to be an amateur than an expert in this case."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. This country has been in the hands of _**experts**_ for decades and overall, things have not gone well. We're pushing 10 trillion dollars in deficit costs, we're involved in wars and countries that we have no business being in to begin with, 75% of American families live from paycheck to paycheck, our infrastructure is crumbling and being held together by duct tape and prayer, and our educational system is more designed to prepare students for the tests than the workforce, a workforce that is steadily shrinking and needs revamping."

"And you are blaming the current and previous administrations for all of that?", Reston challenged icily.

"Not completely. Please don't put words in my mouth or to twist the ones that are coming out, Governor. You've been trying to all night. My point is that this country needs to change and perhaps an amateur can facilitate that change more easily. I'm coming in with no major political experience…"

"Says the legendary Senator's son."

"Observing a major politican and _**being**_ one are two very different things! May I finish or would you like to interrupt me yet again? My five year old son has more control over his mouth than you do!", he finally snapped, glaring at the other man like a roach that needed to be stomped on.

"You are over your time limit."

"The moderator hasn't stopped me, the cameras are still running, and no one's walked out of here yet. Obivously, they want to hear what I've got to say, even though you don't."

"**Governor**…**let him finish. Professor Grant, the floor is still yours.**"

"I am a political amateur. I am. However, through observation and through personal experience, I have learned what _**not**_ to do. Knowing what not to do is half the battle. The other half is figuring out solutions to either solve the problems or to lay down the groundwork to do so. Still, I freely admit that I may do more harm than good. If the American People see this debate and the other political appearances and decide that, then thankfully, they have the option and right to pick my opponent."

There was absolute silence in the wake of that final statement and Fitz calmly drank the rest of his water, waiting to be let off the stage. True to Olivia and Cyrus' warnings, much of the Debate was spent ignoring barbs from Reston and even interruptions. It was pretty damned funny when he thought about it. Fitz had been accused of being immature, of lacking a head level enough to run the country but Reston…he was damned near his father's age and Ger really could teach him a lesson or five about manners. Still, Fitz had kept things on track until just now but he hadn't yelled, he hadn't cursed, and…

His eyes opened to the sound of building applause and slowly, people on both sides of the auditorium were standing up. In his peripheral, Fitz could see Reston make his exit swiftly but he ignored that in favor of seeking his anchor point.

As soon as he saw her smile, he could feel the last of the adrenaline turn into a feeling of deep euphoria.

He had done it. The Debate was over and he was still in the game.

Thank God.


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Note: Hello, everyone. I am so glad that the Debate went over well. I've never written anything like that before and I was worried that it would be too far out the box, even for the Scandalverse. Still, seeing a review from a Gladiator called scorpioblue that said that if my Fitz was an actual Republican candidate, then they'd vote for him…yaasss! Special shout out to you and to everyone else. This one is another short and mostly dialogue chapter ala Chapter 19 so if you want to skip it, that's cool. **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**6 Weeks Before Election Night: Connecting the Dots pt. 1**

"Wait, go back up. There."

"What do you see?"

"…those are my father's accounts. The streams of numbers right there and there."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. After I turned 14, Big Jerry made sure that I knew the odds and ends of the family books. The upper one leads to the Chase branch here where we do business and the lower one goes to an offshore account in the Caymans…unbelievable…"

"Just because the numbers are there doesn't mean he's part of what Billy is cooking up, Fitz. I mean some of the cash is going to people we've connected to him but the majority is going to…damn, I don't recognize that account. I'll have to call Huck and Quinn in the morning. Remind me?"

" I will. Livvie, it looks bad…"

"Very. Still, before we jump to conclusions, we need to follow it down to the roots and then make sure those roots are accurate. You once told me that politicians and their ilk had a tendency to dwell in the same financial circles. Big Jerry could be in the same circle as Billy through a mutual accountant or a friend of a friend."

"True. It's all very insular, which is a double edged sword."

"You can tell your secrets and open your coffers under a veil of privileged silence but the moment someone gets mad or ambitious…"

"_**Exactly**_."

"Wow. La Costra Nostra doesn't have shit on blueblood folks, do they?"

"Oh, we're definitely worse. At least they let you know what they're about from the jump. Bluebloods put the patent on being wolves in sheep's clothing. And backstabbing in more ways than one. That's another reason why I stayed in the Service so long. I didn't want to get sucked deeper into it than I had to."

_**/**_

"Son of a bitch!"

"_**Quiet!**_"

"Sorry. C'mere."

"What did you find?"

"It's looks like a bug but nothing I've seen before. It might be Original Equipment. I see a lens, too."

"Is any of it active?"

"…No. Why is there a bug here? Why would Ballard have a bug here?"

"…For Ger. He comes here every day that it's open. Right over there is his floor space."

"He's spying on Ger? Oh my God, why? He's **_5 years old_**..."

"A very high profile 5 year old with high profile parents. Ballard could working for the paparazzi…or it could be for... _personal use_…"

" Oh God...you know, I never liked him when he was around. He was normal but not normal at the same time. He creeped me out. And I didn't like the way he looked at Fitz and Liv, sometimes."

"How did he look?"

"Like he wanted to kill and like he wanted to fuck, respectively. The looks were quick but I know what I saw. Damn it... Huck, I swear to God…"

"Quinn, he'll pay. Whatever he's doing this for, whoever he's doing this for is irrelevant at the end of the day. **He will pay**."


	36. Chapter 36

**Author's Note: Hello, everyone. I have the day off, I'm not sick, and my mother took all my siblings out of the house with my aunt for a last summer hurrah. Today is good. Very good. It's been awhile since I've been able to update a story this frequently and that makes me happy. Hopefully, it makes y'all happy, too.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**6 Weeks Before Election Night: Connecting the Dots pt. 2**

"Jerry, Larry, and I first contacted Jake Ballard after Fitz was honorably discharged. Jerry wanted a way to keep tabs on him discreetly, see if he was still stable enough to be a candidate. After he met you, his assignment changed to surveil the both of you in the hopes of finding something that would break you two up so Mellie could…of course, things turned out differently and once it became apparent that you two were in it for the long haul, I had him cease and desist."

"Did you contact him?"

"Liv, I swear to God that I have nothing to do with this. Yes, I am a monster and yes, I'm up to my crow's feet in the Dirty but…I would never do anything to potentially endanger you two or Ger. That's not…I _**couldn't**._"

To his immense surprise, Olivia smiled at him warmly and then looked towards Fitz significantly. With a chuckle, Fitz pulled a crisp 10 dollar bill out of his front pocket and passed it to her, the note finding a snug home in her Body by Victoria.

"Told you so."

"You were right and I was wrong. I yield in the face of your immense Fixing prowess, milady."

"As you should, m'lord. Keep your day job."

"Wait a minute, you two knew that I had nothing to do with what's going on but…"

"Cyrus, there's a growing number of snakes in the garden and Liv and I are unsure as to who to really trust anymore."

"Putting you on blast like this provided an opportunity for clarity."

Feeling his blood pressure go back to its standard level of terrible, Cyrus mulled over this latest turn of events. He had known Fitzgerald Grant Jr. for decades, even considered him to be a friend 80% of the time, but this…this just took the cake in prideful stupidity. All the old stubborn bastard had to do was take his head of his ass (and the bottle) long enough to open communications with his son and daughter in law but **_no_**. No, not Big Jerry Grant. What did **_he_** do? He enlisted a minion to resume illegally surveilling them and now, the aforementioned minion is on the chopping block because now they think he's a pedophile or part of a brewing conspiracy to fuck with the inevitable Grant Administration. And really, what the hell kind of operative eavesdrops on and records a 5 year old with a straight face. Ger was a genius but come on. He wasn't figuring out the cure for cancer or the secret to perpetual energy!

Yet, anyway.

"You two are insane."

"Going after my political career is one thing. Involving our son is a whole other animal. Does Ballard know that you've got nothing to do with what's going on?"

"Knowing your father, no. He probably even said that it was all my idea so that when you two figured what was going on, you'd kill me first. So, are you bringing him in for interrogation?"

"No. Huck and Quinn are. We're meeting them later on."

"Need I remind you both that now is not the time to have a murdered person even loosely connected to you?"

"You don't. That's why I made them promise not to kill him.", Olivia replied cheerfully.

"Hanging around you two is either gonna have me dying from a heart attack or from liver failure."

"We love you too, Cyrus."

**_/_**

"We promised, remember?"

"I know we promised. That doesn't mean that I can't…"

"Huck."

"He's not bleeding enough!"

"He's bleeding just fine...and probably still dizzy."

"A vase, Quinn?"

"I paid for it and that nice street vendor thinks I just stopped a purse snatcher."

"…you're weird."

"I'm not weird."

"Weird is good."

Jake opened his eyes to mere slivers and noted that he was lying on a thick sheet of plastic and there was duct tape over his mouth. His wrists and ankles were ziptied together and there were two things pinning him to the plastic sheet through his t-shirt, possibly knives. Looking up, he saw the drop ceiling and hanging lights typical of a warehouse. There was a shooting, throbbing pain on the left part of his skull and he could feel blood oozing through the scabbing cut on his temple.

The bugs had been malfunctioning. The cafeteria one had been destroyed via a linen cart propped against the poster and he had chalked it up to bad placement, bad timing. He had figured the same with the studio one and had picked up a replacement one before heading in. Seeing the menacing figure melt out of the shadows, recognizing him as one of the Red Baron's associates had sent him into panic mode. He had bolted into a face full of knockoff Ming Dynasty vase and a brutal kick to the groin by a schoolteacher type. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was both of them looking down at him with crazed hazel-chocolate eyes, the woman putting a restraining hand on the man's arm…

"He's awake."

"Thank you for not killing him."

Grant. A slow cadence of heels indicated that his wife was with him, and he turned his head to see the pointed toes of lethal looking black boots. Looking up, he saw Grant looking at him with a blank face and betrayal filled eyes.

"Take the tape off, Livvie."

Jake gasped in pain as she did so and involuntarily swallowed as the razor sharp edge of a knife rested horizontally under his right eye. The slightest shift of the wrist would draw blood.

"_Fitz_…"

The air whooshed out of him as his foot slammed down on his abdomen and she pulled the knife away with a startled squeak. The betrayal had been replaced with bloodlust and his voice was harsh.

"Do **_not_ **call me that. Explain yourself."

"Your father's been paying me to monitor you and your family. He also paid me to monitor you and your wife while you were dating."

"I already know this. What I don't know is why."

"Maybe it's because of your last mission together."

"You know about that?"

"I know the gist of it. Your squadron had to take care of business in Iran and there was a traitor in your ranks that sold you out into an ambush. Fitz was shot down and presumed dead for 4 months and 13 days. Review of the situation indicates that the shoot down volley was for you but Fitz being Fitz and protective of those he cares for took it without hesitation. And this is how you repay him. **He should've let you die.** What do you know about Billy Chambers?"

"I don't know anything about…"

Another slam to the gut and now, a thin trail of blood was running over his chin, the metal of the blade catching the light like diamond...

"Please don't lie to us, Jake. You're already pretty damned close to dead for involving our child in your bullshit."

"He wanted reports on all of you! I was just following…"

"If you finish that Nuremberg excuse, I'll cut your throat myself. Answer her question. **Now.**"


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's Note: So, I got back to work today and while my boss was able to write me a check, I can't cash it until Wednesday. Times are rough all over, man. It's okay because I'm 89% (and in some areas 89 is an A-plus) sure that my account won't overdraw before then and if it does…well, it would the first time and my big sister's done it like 50 so my parents should be understanding if I gotta ask them for the difference. And I always pay them back. Owing people money gives me the Hives, especially if it's family.**

**Last chapter was a new Olitz ground for me. I know that Huck (and now Quinn) has the monopoly on scary yet more than a little sexy violence in canon but I've always wanted to see Liv and Fitz get a little roughneck and shed some Quentin Tarantino blood together. Okay, more Liv than Fitz. Homeboy already cut his bones upside Verna's head…**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**6 Weeks Before Election Night: Connecting the Dots pt. 3**

The knife had been bleached, wrapped, and discarded in the nearby river. The plastic and other supplies had been collected and put into the basement incinerator of the warehouse. Quinn had taken Ballard to a nearby hospital, the man's silence already guaranteed. That was the thing about this aspect of Fixing, the shades of grey fading to black. Secrets were crucial.

The collected footage had been archived and stored away in multiple areas for ammunition purposes. If Jake decided to get more cute and creative than he already had, all it would take is a Call to end him. Child molesters, even **_suspected_** child molesters never lasted long in prison…

Olivia watched placidly as the last of the dried blood left her nail beds and could feel Fitz behind her. The brutality he had shown Jake had been surprising to say the least. Although he was far from a wilting wallflower, Fitz had a large pacifist streak, possibly a lasting effect from growing up with Big Jerry. He wanted to keep the peace and she had never really seen him lose his temper. Annoyed and indignant to the point of bitchiness, yes but deep, burn the whole world to the ground and not give a fuck dark rage was usually left in her jurisdiction.

She would never be afraid of him. Absolutely not. Fitz would die before he hurt their son or herself but…she'd be damned sure to never underestimate what he was capable of ever again.

After all, even the sweetest people in the world had a breaking boiling point of madness.

Her eyes met his in their bathroom mirror and all she could see was exhaustion as he leaned against the doorjamb. Before leaving, Huck had collected their clothes for disposal and for the first time, they had shared a platonic shower. He was just in a pair of black boxers and she was drowning in one of his white undershirts. She was exhausted too but her brain just wouldn't shut off. The footage of Ger, the footage of them, Ballard's notes about them, Billy Chambers, Amanda Tanner, the waning days of the Campaign…all of it was like someone had dropped a monsoon into her super brain and dared her to pull through with a raft and half a paddle.

"Ger?"

"Fast asleep. I checked the house for bugs like Huck asked. Nothing."

"Good. What do we do about your sperm donor?"

"Ask me that question again in the morning. Here."

"I hate scotch."

"Wine's not gonna cut it tonight and you know it, Livvie."

Point. Shutting off the sink, she threw back the tumbler and gritted her teeth against the eye watering burn. Her brain was still clicking along but at a much slower speed. There were still obstacles to face but the good thing about tonight was that a threat had been exposed and eliminated (she desperately wished that it could've been permanent but alas…) and the aforementioned threat had sang like a canary with the correct incentive. Or the wrong incentive, depending on one's point of view. All Jake knew was that Billy had a plan to make Sally president after Fitz got into office and that plan hinged mainly on Amanda Tanner…

It didn't take a rocket surgeon to figure out what the pretty blonde's role was supposed to be.

Monica Lewinsky. Donna Rice...

Sometimes, she absolutely despised being right. She truly, truly did…

"I poured bleach down the shower drain in case…well, you know."

"I'm beginning to rethink my telling you to keep your day job."

" Yeah, if this whole Leader of the Free World thing falls through, I'd be happy to call you Boss Lady."

She chuckled and quipped saucily, "You already do."

"Happily. Come to bed."


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's Note: One thing I love most about the SCANDAL fandom is that inspiration can come at any time from any way. A gif set on Tumblr, an insight filled commentary thread, video clips from YouTube, an ovary melting awesome update on a fanfic (GladiatorRED, FTW!)… anywhere. I had a welcome day off, my parents finally went grocery shopping, and my siblings are going back to school. And it's getting ever closer to Wednesday where I will have more than 5 bucks in my bank account again. I'm happy.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**6 Weeks Before Election Night: Connecting the Dots pt. 4**

**3 Days Later…**

The longer she stayed in this Game, the more expendable and vulnerable she felt. Amanda Tanner was all too familiar with those feelings but this time, it was different. There were times when Billy made her feel like she was in danger. Not just the danger associated with a bad relationship but the danger that her Aunt Laura, the one person who had truly given a damn about her warned her about…

"**_You keep on running around with that crowd…if you don't toughen up…Mandi, you won't see 30…or you'll see it just long enough to get used to it before it gets taken away from you_**…"

It had taken a while but she had gotten out of that damned town with all those damned people. She had managed to get herself a few jobs and a Pell grant to get into a local college. She wanted to go into Telecommunications. She wanted to be one of those anchors on ABC or CNN. She wanted to cover the serious subjects in the world and use whatever influence she gained to change it, even in just a small way. Or if that didn't work out, then she'd head for DC and become an aide or a lobbyist. She had spent much of her life in the System, seeing its flaws and strengths…

Unfortunately, her financial aid had gone awry so she had to stop her education for the time being. Instead of diving back into old bad habits, Amanda had decided to use the time to get into the National Politics arena, signing onto the Langston campaign in its infancy and staying steadfast when the times got rough. She had become friends with Billy Chambers before the Merge and the both of them had engaged in some bitch and bull sessions. Don't get her wrong, the Grant campaign and family dynamics were wonderful and innovative but the country needed a time of stability and tradition before it got shaken up.

Sally could re-establish core values in America and get things back on track. 2016 would be a better time for Fitz Grant III to take the Oval. She would even vote for him, then but the cards hadn't fallen that way. She had been disappointed but willing to make the best of things. After all, First Female Vice President was nothing to scoff at...

Billy was not. He saw the Merge as a betrayal to the Conservatives, a huge setback for them. He saw Grant as 'weak and impetuous' and his wife as 'gorgeous but much too willful, unfit to be the First Lady'. Vice President wasn't good enough nor was waiting for 2016. In his eyes, it was a God given mission for Georgia Senator Sally Langston to be in the Oval Office come 2008 and he would achieve that aim by any means necessary.

Even if it meant that his girlfriend had to be Bait. Honestly, Amanda felt that her role in the Plan was doomed from the start. Fitz Grant III was obsessively devoted to his wife and vice versa. While it was a bipartisan tradition for Presidents to engage in 'extracurricular activities', she just couldn't see it happening, especially since she was blatantly, **_hilariously_** not his Type. And everyone knew that Olivia Pope-Grant had him by the balls…literally…**_very _**literally at least twice a day.

At least the man was a hedonist and lust glutton with his wife. If he was all over the damned place with it…

Her watch alarm beeped and she listened, relieved to still hear Billy's snores. She had already torn apart the box and the instructions into tiny pieces, dumping them in a plastic bag. Amanda had been feeling off for a few weeks and her Cycle hadn't started. She used to joke that only 3 things were regular in her life: bad men, minimum wage, and her period. Billy didn't like using condoms and she was on the Pill but…

Looking in the window of the stick, she paled and sank to her knees on the bathroom floor.

Oh.

Oh, **_no_**…

The feelings intensified tenfold and became blended with a near claustrophobic panic.

What was she going to do now?

**_/_**

"…_**Anyone** that tries to destroy that_…"

"_Are you threatening me, Ms. Pope?_"

"_It's Mrs. Pope-Grant and I am **promising** you that if you plot anything else against us, I will not only destroy your reputation and career, I will gleefully destroy _**_you_**_. My family's livelihood directly involves death and has for over 40 years on both sides. Do not test me on this…**Daddy**._"

* * *

"Sit down and join me. The tea and pastries here are divine."

"Where's Tripp?"

"Ger's school is having an after school Art Fair and they needed parents to help out. I'll be joining them later. Sit down."

Big Jerry slowly slid into the small booth and looked at her with wary evaluation. Olivia Pope…Olivia Pope-_**Grant**_ would never cease to unsettle him. The sheer amount of contradictions and facets that made up her personality gave him a headache. One moment, she could be turning cartwheels and giggling with schoolgirls and the next…he had seen Ballard's injuries. Even though it was approaching the decade mark for her marriage to his son, she was still as obsessively in love and loyal to him as day 1 and vice versa. If anything, now that they had a child, it was worse…

"Olivia…"

"You've been using Jake Ballard as a minion for nearly a decade. You had him collect audio and video recordings of myself, Fitz, and more importantly, my son. Why shouldn't I stab you through the eye with this spoon?"

The aforementioned spoon was set down carefully and she brought her wide jade snake scale patterned cup of tea to her crimson red lips. The weather outside was transitioning to winter and her attire reflected that. She had on a deep gray waistcoat, black corduroy trousers, and a pair of thickly heeled boots, black with silver buckles. Her eyes were lined thickly with black eyeliner and shone with both anger and unshed tears. Now, it was more important than ever to fall back on his upbringing, his training because he was all too aware that rescue would not come from his son or Cyrus if she decided to follow through with her question.

For their own reasons, both men would gladly see him burned to a crisp.

"I was concerned about my son."

"As a pawn. He's always been a pawn to you, an extension of your will to do as you see fit with. That's all fine and good…actually, no. It's horseshit but…why did you involve Ger? What the hell could you possibly want with a 5 year old?"

"He's my grandson! I have the right to know him!"

"It's called sobering up for 5 minutes and picking up a damned phone! Or typing a damned email!"

"Oh, like you two would actually let me…"

"If you had asked, then yes. Ger deserves to know all of his family. He deserves to have a chance to choose for himself who he wants in his life. If you had contacted us like a sane human being, I guarantee that he would've wanted to see you and Fitz and I would've made it happen. Not now, though."

Tears started to flow down her cheeks and Big Jerry actually felt a twinge at the raw hurt and disappointment in her gaze.

"You know, I was going to try and see if Fitz would meet you halfway somehow. Maybe after the Election. I mean, regardless of all the shit, he still loves you. You're his father and he loves you. He just…the reason he cut you off was because he didn't want to get hurt anymore. You…even years later, what you did or didn't do to him and your family still haunts him, still hurts him. He won't even tell me a little unless he's drunk...no. No, I called you here to tell you that it's over. Truly over. The second you encouraged that…thing…to monitor our son like a fucking criminal, you crossed a Line. You're going to go back to California and forget all about us because if you don't, I'll see to it that you spend the rest of your life behind bars. I already paid for the tab."

"Olivia...", he started weakly.

"Good-bye, Jerry. Try and have a good life."

And out the door, she went.


	39. Chapter 39

**Author's Note: Happy Friday, everyone. More connections will be made later but it's time for another time jump, this time to the Election itself. I've been looking forward to writing this since Chapter 1 and I've already got ideas for White House stuff with all the funny and serious fixings. And the dirty ones, too. Come on now, it's **_**Olitz **_**and like I said earlier, FTGIV ain't gonna be an only child forever…**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**2008 Presidential Election Night **

It took everything he had not to scream or vomit at the sight of a slowly but surely red filling map. California, Michigan, New York, Virginia, Ohio, Texas, Illinois, _**Florida**_…the voting results were being streamed live and unlike the rest of the crowd, Billy Chambers felt nothing but disgust and rage. So much rage. How could this have happened? How could Sally have fucked everything up so royally?

And Amanda…she was gone. She claimed to have a family emergency but after a month, it became glaringly clear that she was not coming back. She had changed her numbers, closed down her emails, and her bank accounts were closed and empty. She had left him. _**Him!**_ He was the one that did the breaking up, not the women…unbelievable!

He supposed it was for the best, though. She was getting to be too clingy and too much of a liability, not to mention that her role in the Plan had been 86'd weeks prior. Apparently, Grant was determined to not only be the first President with a black wife but he also wanted to be the first president to fuck his wife and _**only **_his wife. Not even a lie would've worked because Olivia Pope-Grant and her band of Merry Minions would've sussed it out immediately and then unleashed holy hell. In his research gathering, Billy had talked to those left in the ashes by OPGA. They were _**brutal**_. _**She**_ was brutal! She made Cyrus Beene look like a fucking Kindergarten teacher…

Anyway, if Amanda hadn't retreated back to her Hole on her own, then…well, it was for the best. It really was. If she was still around, then she'd start talking and it was in his experience that when women talked, it led to nothing but trouble, trouble that prompted snap decisions.

Ugly snap decisions with permanent solutions.

_**/**_

"Livvie, you're here!"

Olivia smiled and accepted his greeting hug, along with others. The day had been spent with Ger, much to Cyrus' loud chagrin. What kind of candidate was he, for chrissakes?! Of all the days of the Campaign to have his nose to the grindstone from dawn to dusk, it was _**this**_ one that was most important. Anything could happen! What if they gained an endorsement? What if they lost an endorsement? What Resten saw sense and dropped out? Had they both lost what's left of their ever loving minds?

Cheerfully, they had replied in the affirmative and surprised their beaming child at recess, the family Kodak moment captured by a few of the ever present press.

They had taken him to the Natural History Museum and afterward getting home, built a rather impressive blanket fort in the basement, a blanket fort that knowing her boys would last for at least a month. They had watched _**Mulan**_ (her favorite), _**Tarzan **_(Fitz's favorite), and had been halfway through _**Finding Nemo**_ when Fitz had left for the hotel. At about 6:30, her parents had shown up with the Gladiators in tow, armed with enough refreshments to feed a Roman legion…

Fitz grasped her forearm gently and led her through the throng of growing spectators and staff. They exited the claimed conference room and went into the dimly lit corridors of the hotel. God, he looked so _**good**_. Instead of a traditional suit and tie combo, he had gone with a pair of deep grey slacks, a white Oxford layered with a navy blue pullover sweater, and his old Navy boots in deference to the slush-ice combo on the NYC streets. She wanted to bury her hands in his curls, press herself against him and…

Her back made gentle contact into a corner and he boxed her in, making her smile at the all too familiar move. Feeling the growing heat in his cerulean slate orbs, she undid the tie on her black trench and let it fall open. Her dress was v-neck, snow white, and midsleeved, the style and length reminiscent of the 50s. Keeping with that idea, she had put on sheer black thigh high stockings and his fingers were already toying with the lace there. 2 inch American flag heels put her just at his chest height and her hair was swept back in a side ponytail, jewel encrusted combs keeping it secure. Her eye makeup was minimal but her lips were painted in the deep strawberry red that he absolutely loved on her…and on his skin.

By the end of the night, win or lose, she was determined to get it all over his skin…and maybe some cake, too. Was there cake? If not, she'd find some…

Leaning forward, she ran the tip of her tongue over first his lower and then upper lip, tasting vanilla frosting and scotch…

"Are you gonna kiss me or are you just gonna keep on staring, Flyboy?", she taunted sultrily.

With a low growl, he took her lips aggressively and she cooed, sliding her hands under his tops, finding and caressing heated skin underneath. He pressed himself full length against her and she hitched her left leg over his hip, one of his hands cupping and caressing her ass fondly…

_**/**_

Samuel Reston sat amongst his main advisers, watching the live coverage of the election with the volume down low. His wife was in the next room with their children and the rest of the guests, schmoozing and hostessing like a good wife. Occasionally, she would come in and refill glasses but she wouldn't speak. Good. He didn't want to hear her. He didn't want to hear anyone tonight but of course, political tradition and politeness prompted this get-together.

More people to witness his inevitable humiliation. The numbers said it. The news anchors implied it and when the 'who do you plan on voting for' segments played on the aforementioned news, 2 out of 3 people said 'Grant', 'Grant for the People', and one bright eyed, rarin' to vote for the first time ever 18 year old screamed out of his friend's car 'Viva la Grant!', resulting in cheers from a nearby café.

The closest he could get to describing the situation would be the 1948 election race between Truman and Thomas E. Dewey, only he didn't even have the comfort of an upset victory. It also took him back to a meeting he had with Hollis Doyle 2 weeks before. The Texan good ol' boy had been soundly rejected by the Grant campaign and he had wanted to know why. Doyle was a blowhard with a deep pocketbook but he had always voted Republican and Big Jerry had kept him close during his own campaigns. It had been expected for Grant III to do the same.

Doyle hadn't given him an answer but he had given him an Offer. In exchange for support for an oil pipeline and a hefty donation, he would give him the Election. How? It all centered in Defiance County, Ohio and its new electronic voting machines. Cytron had created and programmed them and although the claims of security were true, all one really needed was a knowledge of the inner workings and a program card to hack in…and change things.

Ohio was a crucial Swing state, up there with Florida in importance and in elections, every little vote, every bit of leverage was critical. Defiance could be a tipping point and it had been so tempting. Really.

But, he hadn't bitten. He had thanked Hollis politely and took his leave. As much as he wanted to win, as sweet as seeing the shellshocked defeat in Grant camp, he wanted to do things right. He wanted to earn the Oval like he had earned his Governor's position. Taking that Card, taking that Offer would've been like signing himself over to Satan and it would remain as a Sword of Damocles over his head for the rest of his life. Hollis would be able to use it to make him into a puppet and Restons were puppets to no one. They stood on their own and by their principles.

And now, those principles were going to cost him this Election.

Wasn't doing the right thing supposed to feel better than this?

_**/**_

"_**The 44**__**th**__** President of the United States is Professor Fitzgerald Grant III of New York**_…"

A deep, near boneless relief filled him and Cyrus let his eyes drift shut as the room erupted in celebration. Opening his eyes, he looked over the back of his seat to get Fitz's reaction. He was sitting in the center of the room, a hand over his mouth and looking as if someone had knocked the wind out of him. He kept looking between the crowd and the large flatscreen, a flatscreen that now showed an official headshot of him next to the red and blue state map, like he was waiting to wake up at any second. Olivia clicked to him and placed a hand on his left shoulder, prompting him to look up into her eyes.

She was smiling tenderly and tears were pouring from her eyes as he stood to face her.

"…_hi._", he breathed.

"Hello, Mr. President.", she replied happily.

It was like Fitz snapped out of a trance because soon Olivia was shrieking with laughter as he spun her around, setting out a new, stronger wave of cheering. Fitz was smiling, crying, and kissing his wife in front of all God's creatures and Cyrus raised his glass of cognac in salute. They could be as nauseatingly married as they wanted to be tonight. Hell, if he wanted to, Fitz could screw Olivia through the chair they were now sharing and he wouldn't say a damned thing.

They had done it. Fitz was going to be in the Oval where he belonged and where the country needed him. Getting in was one thing but staying would be a whole other animal. There were still people to handle, causes to champion, speeches, policies…

Later.

James was heading towards him with a certain gleam in his eye.

_**Much**_ later, he amended while moving to intercept him, his blood already heating…

Right now, it was a time to celebrate.


	40. Chapter 40

**Author's Note: Hello, everyone. Again,** **If someone could just invent a way to take out one's uterus until needed and it would still work fine, I'd give them all the awards in the world. Other than that, I'm doing okay and I may be getting another client in my home healthcare hustle. I don't know yet but I hope it turns out well. I could use the 2nd stream of income.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

_"Ideally, a Presidency lasts 8 years. Ideally, a marriage lasts 50. 8 years of a job, even the highest job in the Land is not worth 42 years of arranged marriage misery. Besides, if anything, bringing me home has __improved__ his chances significantly. Think about it, Senator Grant: the Republican Party has been seen as non-inclusive and an enemy to people of color, particularly the black community. A White Anglo-Saxon Protestant Republican candidate with an African-American wife, an intelligent and attractive African-American wife that he genuinely respects and adores is absolute political gold. Plus, there's the Glass Ceiling angle."_

_"Glass Ceiling?"_

_"There has never been an interracial couple in the White House.** Ever**. Although the ultimate dream is to have a Black, Latino, or Asian _**_President_**_, I can think of myriads of people who would be ecstatic to have us in there, especially since Fitz is more than capable of being an FDR quality President. Have you ever talked to him about his ideas for reducing the deficit?"_

_"No."_

_"Improving and repairing the infrastructure?"_

_"No."_

_"Education and Healthcare Reform?"_

_"No."_

_"Alternative Energy Prospects and the practical transition to them?"_

_"No."_

_"Diplomatic and defensive maneuvers with Taliban controlled and former USSR nations and other potential domestic dangers to this country? No? Jesus Christ, have you actually sat down and had a _**_recent _**_conversation with him that hasn't immediately degenerated into an argument?!"_

_"…no."_

* * *

Big Jerry had taken the phone off the hook.

After Tripp had taken Florida, a notoriously sticky state, almost immediately, he had seen where the winds were going to blow. His son was about to be the 44th president of the United States. The Endgame was nigh…and yet it wasn't. When he had imagined the Day, he had seen Tripp with Mellie and a couple of kids. He had seen a long track record of acceptable politics and most importantly, he had seen himself right in the thick of the action, guiding his son to the right people, the right endorsements, the right connections…

But, it hadn't worked out that way.

Nothing had gone according to Plan from the day Tripp hadn't stepped through those airport gates on that sunny Tuesday, a brief phone call on the way to his new post the only explanation…

An image of a laughing Olivia Pope…Olivia Pope-_**Grant**_ being spun around and kissed played on his office TV and he turned it up, waiting for the opening newscasts. Clips of people celebrating in the streets the night before played, people of all ages, race, and backgrounds before the image of the result map came up. The country looked like it was bleeding from all the red. Much of it was concentrated in the Northeast and the West but notable exceptions were present, almost every critical state had been taken and by large margins. The last image was of a family portrait. A pajama clad Ger was popped up between Tripp and Kingsley Pope's shoulders and Olivia was being hugged tightly by a silver haired doppelganger, presumably Andrea Soileau-Pope.

"_**Good morning, America. It's 6AM and we have a new President…"**_

"…_**historic election…first interracial couple…"**_

"_**82% of the popular vote…unprecedented…"**_

"…_**congratulations streaming in, most notably from the Royal Family…"**_

"_**Governor Reston to give a statement around 12 noon EST…"**_

Forgoing a glass, he picked up the decanter of scotch and took a strong pull. He pretty much lived on scotch now. Whispers were going through the circuit. No one knew exactly what was going on but some associated it with the nihilism of age or just plain loneliness that had him hitting the sauce as hard as he was. Both were relevant but mostly, it was…grief. He was grieving for his family, a family that he had singlehandledly destroyed with his own hubris and selfishness.

His girls had fled the country as soon as they were college age. Tripp…well, he already knew what Tripp had done to stay away. Between tours, he had learned trades in Europe and yoga throughout Southeast Asia. Miranda had kept every letter, every postcard, every gift he had sent…Miranda…

He had fucked that up. Miranda Lawrence was the great love of his life, really she was. But, he had been arrogant and selfish. He had pushed her to second place and focused solely on what he wanted, what he needed. She had stayed for the sake of the children and for the sake of his political career but the moment he retired.

The divorce had been one of the fastest in the history of Miller, Kendricks, and Burger. She had merely wanted to be free, free of him at last but the Pre-nup had left her very comfortable and with the loft in Tokyo, a loft and life she now shared with her new husband.

_"You know, I was going to try and see if Fitz would meet you halfway somehow. Maybe after the Election. I mean, regardless of all the shit, he still loves you. You're his father and he loves you. He just…the reason he cut you off was because he didn't want to get hurt anymore. You…even years later, what you did or didn't do to him and your family still haunts him, still hurts him. He won't even tell me a little unless he's drunk...no. No, I called you here to tell you that it's over. Truly over…."_

It was. Big Jerry knew that Olivia had told Tripp what had happened and he knew that his son would support her decision to end it, not just to keep her happy but because it was the right thing to do.

He had miscalculated. He had cheated, lied, pulled strings, and worked his fingers to the bone to get where he was and for what? What did he really have to show for it?

Nothing.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

_**/**_

_"Thank _**_fuck_**_ that Fitz found me before he married you__…__ no offense."_

_"None taken. I can be woman enough admit that he's better off with you..."_

* * *

"Daddy, I'm fine. I promise."

"Millicent…"

"Fitzgerald and I were never meant to be, no matter how much you and I at the time wanted it to be. He is ecstatic with Olivia and the country is in good hands."

"I suppose. Don't get me wrong, he's a great kid but there's always been a softness to him…"

"I didn't mean him, Daddy. Behind every good man is a better woman."

Although her tone suggested that she was joking, Mellie was dead serious. She had only interacted with Olivia Pope-Grant a handful of times but she knew and accepted that the other woman was everything Mellie wasn't. Not just when it came to Fitzgerald but when it came to drive, compassion, humility, _**brilliance**_. Although she was known as a crisis manager or Fixer in the vernacular, she had submitted her own papers and articles, and had been invited to speak at many events already. She would come onto the stage or up to the platform, a petite and brightly colored kitten and emerge as a lioness, leaving her opponents and opposers in the dust.

Olivia Pope-Grant got shit done and although the fact was unspoken, everyone knew that the true power and strength in the Grant/Pope-Grant household firmly belonged to her. What impressed Mellie the most was that Fitzgerald obviously preferred it that way. She had found a way to make him do so, most likely through the aforementioned compassion and humility… and a copious amount of sex. Although, he did every and anything to be the opposite of Big Jerry, Fitzgerald was still a Grant man. Grant men were known for two things: politics and a near nymphomanic need for sex. The fact that he had remained with Olivia for going on 10 years, not even looking at another woman once…oh, yes.

Taking another sip of her iced tea, Mellie sent a mental salute to the Grants, continuing to watch the morning news happily.

The next four (eight…) years were certainly going to be interesting.


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's Note: Hello, everyone. I'm still sick but I'm slowly getting back to normal. Hopefully, I'll be back on my feet by tomorrow. Meanwhile, if you haven't already, get on Tumblr and enjoy the work of the #Tony Nation. This Tuesday has been glorious from 12:01AM and it's just plain lovely.**

**To the Guest who left those excellent suggestions for the White House future and for Baby Girl Pope-Grant last chapter, if you sign up and write what you suggested, I would read, cuddle, and love the ever loving shit out of your story so damned much. Whoever you are, wherever you are, just go for it. The ideas are too good to waste and I'm kicking myself for not coming up with them myself. Seriously, **_**do**_** it. We always could use more writers in the fandom and we Gladiators don't bite unless you like it that way. **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

… **I just want to thank you, **_**all **_**of you from the bottom of my heart. Your support has proven to be invaluable as is your trust. I don't claim to have all the answers. I'll probably screw up more than a few times (I'll do my best not to start another war…) but I promise you (and yes, I know a politician promising anything is an opening for so many jokes…) that I will do my utmost to keep this country on an even keel and to help as many people as I can with the time that I have in 1600 Penn, whether it's 4 years, 8 years, or some number in between.**

**Thank you again and God Bless America.**

**-FTGIII.**

"Good?"

"Very good. Formal but still organic and genuine.", she replied warmly.

Fitz smiled and after a last readthrough, saved the post to the 'FTGIII' blog. Olivia had started it the day she came up with the shirt and had kept it going. She kept sensitive information close to the vest but other than that, it was pretty open. Footage from campaign stops, the map of destinations, discussion forums, and of course, shirt orders were available, 50% for the shirt's price going to a buyer's chosen charity. Initially, it had been seen as gimmicky but once the status quo had gotten used to it…

Closing and setting aside the laptop, he turned to his right and took her in. She was resting on her back, her black lacy nightgown askew and she was visibly content. Her eyes moved to him and he shifted closer, his head resting on her bare shoulder where it belonged. Instinctively, he started kissing her shoulder and she held him closer to her, tilting her neck in offering. He would never tire of the taste of her, the feel of her. Olivia pulled him fully on top of her and started grinding against his throbbing cock, the silk of her nightgown feeling delicious against his bare skin. The silk of her skin would feel better…

Working together, they removed the last barrier separating them and her bent legs spread until they framed his hips. Fitz took her right nipple into his mouth and she made a noise that sounded like a growl and a purr at the same time. He _**loved**_ that noise. He wanted to hear it again. Suckling harder to make her lower half buck, he slid inside her like a glove to a hand. Both of them moaned and he licked a straight line from her nipple to the underside of her breast. He could taste shea butter, vanilla frosting, and just her. God, _**her**_…

"_**Fitz**_…"

He kissed back up to her lips and her tongue advanced forward, mimicking the rhythm he was establishing between her legs. Her leg hitched over his hip and her hand went to his ass to aid him going deeper, harder, faster. She was so responsive to his touch. She wanted him. She loved him. He loved her. He would always love her, only her… Soft. Warm. Hot. Wet. Perfect. His Livvie…no one else…no other woman…Olivia, Olivia, Olivia…

Their lips parted with a soft pop and he continued moving within her, making deep love to her and watching as her passion began to boil over. Her lips parted and she started to pant, her eyes glazing over with lust as she looked up at him. Wanting to help, needing to feel her, Fitz used his thumb to play with her throbbing nub, grinding his hips against her Spot…

Her head went back and with a deep, fluid arch of her back, she came with a raw scream, shuddering with bliss and calling his name as he pounded into her.

"_Again, Livvie…let go_…_come for me…__**with**__ me…oh, God_…"

"_**Yes!**_"

Heat seared his mind and electricity surged in his veins as he succumbed to his own bliss, the force behind it stealing his breath and voice. Breathless little gasps and whimpers sounded in his ear and her fingertips pressed hard into his shoulders, trailing up into his hair. Aftershocks made her quiver inside and he moaned as she milked him with her walls, him still grinding against her deepest depths. Her head dropped to her right shoulder and her eyes shut loosely, her arm going over her eyes. Gently, Fitz moved it away and kissed her brow, letting her nuzzle her face into his chest. Warm silence fell between them and after a while, she maneuvered them into a spooning position. Her heartbeat reverberated against his back and he shifted closer, unashamed to be held. He had never understood men who made a big deal about the whole 'big spoon/little spoon' thing. Either one felt amazing…

"_I love you, Fitz. I love you so much._", she murmured drowsily.

"…_love you, too_…"


	42. Chapter 42

**Current Author's Note: Hello, everyone. Nothing promotes the Muses better than a bloody power outage. This chapter is mostly brought to you by the letters B and P for battery power. Hopefully, things will have been fixed and stabilized by the time this is posted. (Update: They have, thank God.)**

**Original A/N:**_** So**_**, apparently **_**EW**_**'s dropped a new Fall TV promo cover and officially promoted Captain Creeper to Liv's second love interest. By my mother's mandible, I say nay, **_**nein**_**, and a big ol' FUCK YOU to Ms. Rhimes and her enablers for allowing this to occur! If you want my in depth opinion on the matter of Olake (or as I refer to it O-how-'bout-NO!), go to LiveLoveWRITE and read the 'Jake Ballard' entry in my SCANDAL 101 tag. This is bullshit. This is fuckery. And I am **_**not **_**amused. At least half of my Season 3 commentary is most likely going to look like the hood version of Mean Girls and I don't care. I relish the challenge. Plus, my 21st birthday's in March so if (when) things get really, **_**really**_** bad, I can legally drink a whole bottle of something fruity and potent to numb the pain. **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**Inauguration Day pt. 1**

Carefully, she opened the little black box and smiled in anticipation. Even though Fitz insisted that her mere presense was enough, that all he really wanted for his Inauguration was to spend time with his family, Olivia had been determined to get him something special, something tangible. Briefly, she considered getting another tattoo but that idea had been nixed. There wasn't time to get to St. George and Axum and she didn't know anyone down here. The last thing one wanted to do was to go to a new tattoo artist without doing their homework. Since she was the First Lady of the United States (FLOTUS) , it was infinitely more important. Plus, the healing time may interfere with…other plans for celebrating. So, no. Not now, anyway…

She had been surfing the Web one night and had heard of an Auction. Checking the catalog, she had immediately found the perfect gift. Accessing her personal accounts, she had thoroughly (anonymously) outbid everyone and received it 2 days after the Election. It was simple yet elegant and he was going to love it.

Hopefully…

Rising up, she turned to a nearby full length mirror and smoothed down her dress. It was snow white with a large black lace design that wrapped around her middle. She had straightened her hair into a loose wavy cascade. Having learned her lesson from Election Night, her liner and mascara were waterproof and she had put on a soft pink lip tint. Other than the red, it was Fitz's favorite and it tasted like honey.

The door opened and she smiled as Ger ran in, catching him in a hug. The best thing about the Campaign being over was that Ger could be with them again. She would always be grateful to her Gladiators and her family for tending to him but she missed him, she missed being a hands on mom. Regardless of OPGA and her impending duties, she was determined to be the same mother she had been before. Her baby came first and if anyone had a problem, they'd have to swallow it whole.

He had on a black sweater layered over a pale gray button down, a pair of hunter green cargo pants, and black boots, American flag shoelaces within them. Tenderly, she pressed a kiss to his brow and brushed some of his ever growing hair out of his eyes.

"Hi, _**dulce**_."

"This is so cool! Did you see all the people out there?", he enthused while looking like he was two seconds from turning a backflip.

"I did. Are you being good for your **_grand-mère_**?"

"He always is, 'Via. Go and find your **_grand-père_**, baby boy. I gotta talk to your momma.", Andrea Soileau-Pope urged gently.

"Okay!"

Lord, if she could figure out how to bottle that child's energy…

Her mother's eyes were kind and knowing as she asked, "How are you?"

"I'm really happy for Fitz and that I'm actually here but…I'm nervous, Momma. What the hell do I know about being a First Lady? I mean, really. And then if I screw this up, it's gonna be a one-two punch since I'm the first black woman to be here. I…I don't want to let America down and more importantly, I don't want to let Fitz down."

"_**Chere**_, you couldn't do that if you tried. That boy loves you more than air and as long as you stay true to who you are, he'll be happy as a clam. As for America…well, at the end of the day, you've got to be you. You've got to be able to wake up and look in the mirror and be proud of what you see. That's what really counts because unfortunately somebody's always gonna have something to say and shade to throw no matter what you do. Just be you. It's worked just fine before."

"True…I'm being very unreasonable about all of this."

"Only a little but that's okay. You get it from your daddy's side of the family."

Olivia laughed and accepted her hug.

_**/**_

Fitz knew it was mean and a blatant sign of his immaturity but he was barely resisting the urge to trip a pacing Cyrus ala Bugs Bunny. The man was going out of his mind already and he hadn't even been sworn in yet. Mentally, he made a note to update everyone's insurance coverage because he was certain that his CoS was going to have a heart/panic attack by the end of the month…

The door opened and his heart leapt into his throat as she came in. Olivia was always gorgeous, whether she was in sweats or an evening gown but…wow. She looked like an angel in snow white and the black lace panel in the middle of her dress was doing something to him that heated his blood. He wanted to kiss her there, feel her back arch, hike up the hem…

**_Later_**, he promised himself.

"What's wrong with him?" she inquired while setting down a small black box.

"The usual."

"Mm. Cyrus, we need the room."

He finally stopped and his eyes narrowed on the both of them. Liv being Liv, just gave him a _**look**_ back and clicked to the door, opening it pointedly.

"Now, look…"

"No, _**you **_look! I understand that Fitz and I are as incomprehensible as furniture instructions to you. I get it. I understand it and most of the time, your commentary and rants are amusing. However, lately, they've been crossing the line into disrespectful territory and believe me, you do not want to go there with me. Especially not today. Now… if you must know, I have a gift for him and no, it isn't a naked gift and even if it was a naked gift, you have no right on God's green Earth to complain about it. He may be _**your**_ President but he's _**my **_husband, Cyrus! Start guarding your tongue about our marriage or I'll cut it out! Am I understood?"

"Liv…"

"**Am I understood**?"

"…Yes."

"Wonderful. We need the room."

She shut the door behind him with a quiet snick and looked at him sheepishly.

"He had it coming."

"I could've said it in a nicer way."

"You could've but it would've taken longer to get through. Cy's a stubborn son of a bitch but he can yield when it suits him. Keeping you happy and non homicidal keeps me happy and non homicidal and that bodes well for his position."

"Damn straight. Still, I'll apologize later."

" You wouldn't be you if you didn't. You said something about a gift?"

She nodded and he chuckled at the childlike eagerness in her body language. Getting right in his personal space, she held up a flag pin, polished until it shone.

"I found this at auction. Dwight Eisenhower wore it while he was in office. There are only 48 stars…", she informed him while pinning it on him. Her hand lingered over the spot and he smiled at her.

"You didn't have to…"

"It's your Inauguration Day. I wanted you to have something special."

No longer able to resist, Fitz put his arms around her and she blushed as he held her to him. All these years later and he could still make her blush…

"You are my something special.", he informed her huskily, going for a kiss.

"_Baby, we can't…you have to_…", she protested breathlessly.

He pulled her back against him and squeezed her, her sweet spicy scent swirling in his nostrils.

"I'm not the President for another 23 minutes and like you said, it's my day. I want to kiss you."

"You always want to kiss me.", she pointed out as she slowly brushed her lips against his.

"Complaints, Wife?"

"Not a one, Husband. C'mere."


	43. Chapter 43

**Author's Note: Good evening, everyone. Once again, we've reached a chapter that I've been looking forward to writing since the jump. We've got the Inauguration itself, the Ball, and the delicious defiling of a certain desk…there will be companion mashups and audio for their first dance song available on LiveLoveWRITE and I hope you guys enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**Inauguration Day pt. 2**

Olivia's heart felt like it was going to burst from joy and pride. She could feel her cheeks start to hurt from her smile and knew that she'd be taking full advantage of the money back guarantee for her waterproof eye makeup but it just didn't matter. Her man, her Fitz was about to be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America. The culmination of years of training, the culmination of brave rebellion against the Grand Master Plan, the culmination of all his hard work in academia and on the Trail was nigh and she was so grateful to be by his side. Tender cerulean slate eyes went to her as a quiet sob escaped her and he used a thumb to wipe her tears away, the gesture causing a wave of cheering and audible 'awwws…" from the mass of excited people surrounding them.

"Don't cry, Livvie…", he murmured sweetly.

"They're happy tears, baby. I'm okay. Go on. Pastor Drake's waiting…"

The kind Civil Rights icon smiled reassuringly and Fitz stepped forward, placing his hand on the Lincoln Bible gently. His free hand reached towards her and she came up, only decorum and the strict timetable keeping her from kissing him. There would be time for that and more later…

"**I, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III**…"

"I, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III…"

"…**do solemnly swear**…"

"…do solemnly swear…"

"…**that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States**…"

"…that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States…"

"…**and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States…"**

"…and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States…"

"…**so help me God.**"

"…so help me God."

"**Congratulations, Mr. President.**"

_**/**_

It was almost surreal. All his life, he had heard about how good a President he would be, how the country would flourish under his headship. Initially, he had gone along with everything, eager to please his father and keep the peace. As he grew older, the stirrings of rebellion began, especially after hearing Big Jerry drill his secretary through his desk on his 10th birthday. It had been the beginning of his transformation as a person, the first steps towards finding his own identity and forging his own destiny. Once he was in the Air Force, he had sworn not to become any sort of politician. He wanted to be different. He wanted to be…_**free**_ but he hadn't a solid clue on how to begin…

Looking across the crowded room, he saw Olivia making peace with Cyrus, eventually hugging the much calmer yet still cranky man. She had changed out of her dress into a snow white v-neck sweater, a skirt with a red, white, and blue tartan pattern, and the black boots he had mentally dubbed her 'Star Trek' boots. She had been the Catalyst and the Push he had needed…

* * *

"…_So, now that you're out of the Air Force for good, he's gonna come knocking any day now, isn't he?"_

_"Most likely…I don't know what I'll do when he does."_

_"What do you mean? Fitz, you're a grown man with a fully functioning brain. You obviously aren't down with his Grand Master Plan so tell him to take it and shove it up his dick."_

_"It's not that simple, Olivia."_

_"Why not? It's your life to live the way you want to. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness means just that. Just because you're some big shot's kid doesn't mean he gets to take that right away from you and railroad you along on some Grand Master Plan. And furthermore, who the fuck died and made him the expert on becoming a World Leader? He can't tell you or anyone else how to be the President of the United States because he's never managed to do it himself."_

_"He's a two term Senator…"_

_"…and a three term Governor of a major player state, I know. Still, comparing what he's managed to do to getting up in the Oval Office is like comparing toddlers in tutus to Alvin Ailey dancers. His opinions are invalid. And…and I know I'm barely in my 20s and we just met and all but even I can tell that you're still seeking his approval at the end of the day and that…Fitzgerald, that's just no way to live. You're setting yourself up for failure that way and you don't deserve that at all…"_

* * *

Even if they had just remained friends, even if he had never fallen in love with her, he would always be grateful to Olivia Carolyn Pope for her words that sunny morning after. In less than 15 minutes, she had cleared away the last of his excuses and told him in no uncertain terms to man up. It was his life to live the way he wanted to live it. All he had to do was decide what to do and stick with it.

He had decided to go for his doctorate so that he could teach, something that he had always wanted to do but had been deemed 'unacceptable' by his father due to its lack of political capital.

He had decided to join Olivia in shutting Mellie down in their apartment lobby, giving her and the California force she represented a clear message who he had decided to belong to.

He had proposed to Olivia and made a life with her, one of warmth and unconditional acceptance. He had decided to go for 1600 Penn and had stuck to his guns when it counted.

And now, he was the President of the United States, the Leader of the Free World on his own merits, no Grand Master Plan required. He had done it…

_**Wow.**_

_**/**_

As soon as she came into the ballroom, all eyes went to her. Carefully, Olivia descended the red carpeted stairs and sought out her husband. He was holding court at the main table and staring straight at her with slightly parted lips, his face aglow with joy and a pink tint to his cheeks from champagne. Once she was halfway down the aisle, he made his way to her and she felt heat blossom in her lower abdomen as his spicy musky scent filled her nostrils.

He was absolutely debonair in his tuxedo, his silvery chocolate curls slicked back and the flag pin she had given him that morning still right where his heart was. Her own was pounding like a jackhammer and she felt her knees threaten to buckle as he put a hand on her back…her mostly bare back.

Stylists had curled her hair and pinned it back to show her ears and the studs within them. As always, Nadia Reacher-Grant's rings were on her finger and she was carrying a small white clutch. Her gown was floor length and snow white, two thin straps meeting in the middle to draw up the bodice into a diamond like shape and it clung to her body in all the right ways. Or the wrong ways because the way Fitz was looking at her needed a warning label in front of everyone and God. Not that she truly minded it but there was a certain amount of decorum needed, now.

Cultivating enough care about that decorum would be an ongoing project for both of them.

"You are absolutely gorgeous."

She smiled at him in thanks and after pressing a (much too) chaste kiss to his cheek, continued toward the table, feeling his hot gaze on her behind. It had been the selling point of the dress. Although Fitz lavished affection on every inch of her, his absolute favorite part of her body was her ass. Honestly, she couldn't blame him. Even when puberty had her in its evil clutches, her ass had been fabulous and she took great pains to keep it that way…

Getting to the end of the aisle, Olivia smirked and slowly looked over her shoulder at him and blew him a cheeky, come hither kiss, delighting in the flare of his nostrils and the absolutely filthy promise filled smile he sent her way in response, decorum going the way of the dinosaur already. Oh well, there was always tomorrow…

Tonight, she was definitely playing with his fires and if she had her way, she would get burned to a crisp.

Gleefully.

_**/**_

As soon as the first note sounded, he knew that he had made the right choice. Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell's duets were some of her favorite songs and they fit so well with their relationship…

_**Every day there's something new  
Honey, to keep me lovin' you  
And with every passin' minute  
Ah baby, so much joy wrapped up in it**_

**_Heaven must have sent you from above_**  
**_Whoa, heaven must have sent your precious love…_**

Slowly, he spun her out and brought her back to him, smiling as she nuzzled his neck briefly. News cameras from every major network were following them, as well as phones and digital cameras. The First Couple, The First Interracial First Couple making their debut…

_**And I, I've got a song to sing  
Tellin' the world about the joy you bring  
And you gave me a reason for livin'  
And ooo, you taught me, you taught me the meaning of givin'**_

**_Heaven must have sent you from above_**  
**_Whoa, heaven must have sent your precious love…_**

"You shouldn't be looking at me like that in mixed company, Mr. President."

It took all the control he had not to seize her lips right then and there. He had heard and relished his new title since Election Night but the way Olivia said it…it was like a sensual caress. Caresses. He wanted to caress _**her**_. She had been teasing him ever since she glided into the ballroom. Hell, if he were honest, he'd say that he wanted her from the second she came into that sitting room in that dress. He wanted to see that dress again soon…

"Why not?"

"Because…"

"Because, why?"

"Everyone will know that…"

She whimpered as he hauled her even closer and let her feel her growing effect on him. He could smell her, the sweet musk between her legs calling to him like a siren's song…

_**To find a love like ours is rare these days  
'Cause you've shown me happiness, yes, in so many ways  
I look in the mirror, and I'm glad to see  
Laughter in the eyes where tears used to be**_

**_What you've given me I could never return_**  
**_'Cause there's so much, girl, I have yet to learn_**  
**_And I wanna show, I wanna show my appreciation_**  
**_'Cause when I found you, I found a new inspiration_**

**_Heaven must have sent you from above_**  
**_Whoa, heaven must have sent your precious love…_**

"You and I both know that you don't give a damn who knows about what you do to me."

Her lips pursed and then curved into the wickedly unrepentant smirk he had grown to adore.

"True…but aren't you worried, though?"

"Nope. I'll leave that in Cyrus' very capable hands. Meet me upstairs in 20 minutes. In the Oval."

"Fitz, you can't leave your own Inaugural ball."

"Watch me.", he purred with a boyish, devil may care grin.

Before she could reply, the song ended and they moved apart, smiling and applauding along with the crowd. Giving her a last _**look**_, he started making his last rounds and giving the appearance of fatigue. He was anything but fatigued.

He wanted his wife, he was going to have his wife, and nothing was going to deter him.

_**/**_

She entered the Oval office slowly and closed the door securely behind her. The room was showroom ready and dimly lit, ready for the Grant Administration to truly kick off in the morning. The far left door opened and in came her husband, his eyes darkening to sharp cobalt as he spotted her.

Olivia had always been an observant person. Those skills had served her well in academics, with OPGA, and especially with Fitz. His body language and presense screamed, his heart was always on his sleeve, at least with her. She knew what they were here for. She knew what he wanted and god help her, she wanted it too. So much…but it was so damned _**wrong**_. This was the Oval Office…

"You changed for me?"

"I saw the way you kept looking at me in this dress. I can put 2 and 2 together and get fish."

Fitz chuckled and nodded in acceptance. His jacket was draped over a sofa and he rolled up his sleeves, slowly but surely advancing on her. Instinctively, she moved away from him, feeling like a prey in an apex predator's crosshairs…

"Mr. President…"

"Oh, I _**like**_ that…say it again…", he urged huskily.

Suppressing giggles, Olivia smiled at him and obeyed, causing a noise that was a cross between a moan and a growl to escape his chest. She tried to advance forward but he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back, kissing her neck just right. One of his large hands went over her center and she moaned, grasping a last sliver of will.

"_**Baby**__…baby, we can't do this here…look around you, look where we are_…"

"_I see where we are…"_

"This…**_cannot_**…happen here_…"_

He raised his head and replied, "I think it can happen right there on that desk."

And that was the end of her resistance.

_**/**_

His lips curved into a smile against that black lace panel and Fitz felt her quiver as he stood up. She was panting and looked thoroughly kissed, thoroughly aroused. She hiked her dress up further and he stepped into the gap between her legs, accepting and matching her deep kisses, his tongue playing with hers.

They broke apart for needed air and Olivia's hands went to his belt, swift and sure. As soon as he was free from his pants, he plunged deep into her, sending objects to the floor with her panties. She keened through clenched teeth and used her left hand to cup his behind, to help him go deeper. His hands yanked her bra up through the material of her dress and she slid the side zipper down, allowing his fingers to slip inside.

"…_**more**__…don't stop…please don't…oh my_…"

Pulling her head back by the scruff of her neck, he looked at her face. Her mouth was open and panting and her eyes were glazed over with sexual hunger and smoldering love. Her hands were caressing his chest and she shivered as he delicately suckled on her lower, then upper lip before kissing her, moving her onto him harder and faster. A series of short, breathy cries became a loud, long moaning scream of release and he shattered with her, muffling her cries and letting her swallow his.

His knees buckled and she caught him, holding him to her with tender possession. Her lips pressed against his brow and they rested against each other, panting and wheezing for air.

"_**Livvie…**__"_

She moaned softly and slowly sat up, him straightening so she could climb off of his desk.

Her knees wobbled and he steadied her with one hand as he used the other to fix his pants. After a minute, she shifted away and picked up her panties. Looking up through her lashes with faux coyness, she offered them to him and he took the white satin with a wolfish smirk.

"We just defiled the Resolute Desk. It's an American treasure and we defiled it.", she remarked absently, as if she were thinking out loud.

"Livvie, JFK _**and**_ Clinton used this desk. I'm sure it's seen and felt much worse than us."

She giggled and conceded his point with an incline of her head.

"Grab your jacket and let's go find our bedroom."

"You're tired?"

The sultry smirk was back with a vengeance and she gave his lower lip a gentle suck, looking at him with innocent doe eyes.

"…_**nope**_**.**"

Her gait was fluid and smooth with satisfaction, an extra sway put in just for him as he followed behind her closely. Evil…she was pure, unadulterated evil.

He wouldn't have her any other way.


	44. Chapter 44

**Author's Note: And now for the chaser. Now that our heroes and their dulce are in 1600 Penn, it's time for them to establish domestic routines and their respective careers there. The next couple of chapters will do that.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

SSA Thomas Michael Stanton Jr. had been working in the White House since 2005. He had quickly gained a reputation for discretion, professionalism, and was known as the Annie Oakley of the Alpha team. His father had been in the service too from Nixon through Clinton so he was more than familiar with the protocols. That familiarity had granted him enough leeway to make his own 3 simple rules.

1)**Know your People.** Know their personalities and quirks. Know who's good with what, who works best flying solo, who has a loose tongue, and plan accordingly. The more cohesive a unit, the better things tend to go.

2)**Be prepared.** Whether it's ammo, an epi pen, or a change of underwear, be prepared. Shit can go FUBAR at the drop of a hat in politics and if there's a choice between a hostile or your charges, it's always the hostile, even if it means you yourself don't go home alive.

3 and most importantly) **Expect the unexpected and roll with it. **

Still, he was embarrassed to have to bring this up…

"Sir, I thought perhaps you'd like to be briefed on a few things…", he started tentatively.

"I am _**not**_ a runner. I _**hate**_ running. I'm only running so the leader of China or Pakistan or whatever can see photos of me running and decide I'm too bad ass to bomb. I'm running for _**America **_and that makes me cranky. If you try to brief me…"

"I thought you'd want to know where the cameras are, sir."

Grant slowed to a dead stop and asked warily, "Cameras?"

"The surveillance cameras. In the White House.", Tom clarified calmly, having successfully gotten the man's attention.

"There are cameras?"

"Every morning, an agent reviews the footage from those cameras and either erases or archives depending on…"

"…what you see.", he surmised grimly and with a deepening blush on his cheeks.

"Yes, sir."

"And I take that there's a camera in the Oval Office?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you've been reviewing the footage?"

"We take turns, sir."

"**Did you review the footage from the morning after the Inaugural Balls?**"

"I've seen nothing worth archiving, sir. Not on my shift…but it won't always be on my shift. You understand, sir?"

"…yeah, I get it."

"I thought you'd wanna know…about the cameras…for the future."

He absorbed that and resumed running by his side, asking bluntly, "What are my options?"

"Sir?"

"You just told me there are surveillance cameras all over the White House, I'm asking where aren't there cameras."

"Well…the residential area for one thing.", he deadpanned with raised brows.

The President shot him an unreadable look and then started laughing softly, causing Tom to actually smile on the clock as they took a water break.

"Ye-_**ah**_…Tom, about that…", he started sheepishly.

"Like I said, sir. I saw nothing and there's nothing to be seen as long as it's my shift."

" Good. Fuck, Livvie's gonna knock me into next week when I let her know. She _**told **_me that it was a bad idea!", he complained softly in a slow jog.

The man seemed to be looking forward to his wife's ire, which was something else Tom was not going to dwell on for very long. Every couple was different, every Presidential couple was different, both behind closed doors and otherwise. Fortunately for America and the Administration, the Grant/Pope-Grant union was quite strong and had deep affection within it. And as far as Tom was concerned, as long as things remained stable, they could do whatever they wanted with and to each other wherever they wanted. He would cover for them and personally pick his partner for them, as well. Kendra Mendez may do the trick. She was just as dedicated as he was and excelled at fading into the background in the tech and real worlds.

"With all due respect, sir…seeing Mrs. Pope-Grant and knowing the type of person she is…I don't blame you for a second.", he offered up serenely.

The President laughed harder and with a brief clap on his shoulder took off at a sprint,forcing the rest of them to up their pace to keep up.


	45. Chapter 45

**Author's Note: Hello, everyone. I'm glad that Tom's background was accepted so readily and I want to confirm that Kendra Mendez (who will formally be introduced in this chapter) will not only be the CMW2 answer to and total upgrade from Stool Pigeon Hal's bitch ass but also a love interest for Tom. I **_**flove**_** him. He's one of my favorite characters in the SCANDAL-verse and he deserves to get some action that doesn't involve guns or getting yelled at by an irate, cockblocking, completely out of line Political Dragon.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

"Thank you, Ms. Kendra. Momma, are you sure that you can stay? Don't you have First Lady and Fixing stuff to do?"

"I do, but it can wait. You're more important, _**dulce**_."

SSA Kendra Mendez felt her lips curve into a smile as Cub visibly brightened and she fell into stride with Mariposa as they walked the cobblestone path to Jackson Academy of Math and Science. The academy was one of the best K-12 schools in the District and catered to gifted children of diplomats, senators and representatives, and occasionally, a Presidential Child.

Little Fitzgerald was almost jumping with excitement, adorable in his blue and gray uniform. He was a pleasant and respectful child, making a point to remember names and to stay visible. While she was brand new to the Service and the White House, she had heard horror stories of prankster children and rebellious teens who took 'hide and seek' to whole different level. Cub was different. He preferred to stay in the residential area mainly, reading and Skyping his loved ones back in NYC (mainly an Esperanza Diaz…) and watching the usual amount of cartoons. If he wasn't in the residential area, he was in the kitchens, learning from Jose or outside playing in the snow.

What stood out the most was the way his parents still made time for him. Although they were the Leader of the Free World and the go-to Fixer, they did at least 90% of his caretaking, the Nanny on staff only used when the both of them had to make an appearance someplace. Their child did not have to be penciled in and Kendra deeply respected that…

Calmly, she showed her credentials and the guard at the door ran a handheld metal detector over her. The device let out a whine and she turned over her service pistol and the dagger set her maternal grandfather had given her at 18. Another whine made her sigh and raise the hem of her top, showing a toned, dark chocolate abdomen and the glittery pink butterfly charm within her navel. The guard blinked, taken aback and Kendra accepted her things back with a brief roll of her eyes.

Her daily uniform consisted of a midsleeved top in black or a cool neutral, dark trousers in cargo or slacks material, and solid combat or hiking boots in black or steel gray. She kept her jet black hair in a low maintenance long pixie style and her eyes were large, aquamarine from her father's British roots. She stood at 5'9 barefoot and was an accomplished fighter, specializing in Krav Maga and old school dirty street fighting.

The professional skills she was most proud of were the ones involving her being behind the scope of a rifle and behind the wheel of a car. Not to mention her skills with hacking and cyber-espionage. It was exceedingly rare to have a fresh out the box agent on the Alpha team, especially given that she was merely 24 but she had earned it. There were always snide whispers behind her back and snarky comments to her face from some of the braver ones (mainly males…) but at the end of the day, when the cards were down and in play, they all knew that she could be trusted and counted on when it mattered.

Plus, they knew if they pushed too far, they may wake up with a 50 caliber bullet hole where no one wanted a 50 caliber bullet hole…

**_"Base to Alpha 2…Alpha 2, do you copy…"_**

"I copy."

**_"Be advised that Alpha 1 and Falcon request an Oval briefing with you upon your return to Base."_**

"…acknowledged. Out."

A flock of butterflies erupted in her stomach but not because the President wanted to see her. All right, that was a lie. He was the Leader of the World and her Boss. Being summoned by him, especially when he was in the Oval, the nerve center of the Administration was a cause for butterflies.

The majority of them were for Alpha 1: Tom Stanton. Every new agent got a mentor based on their skill set and scores from the facility. She had heard of the man, even broken a couple of his records, but she had been expecting someone older and gristled, hardened by the job and the stress that accompanied it.

She had been half right. Tom was one of those agents that stayed in the Zone, even off the clock. He wasn't here to make friends (Although he wouldn't protest if it happened), he was here to do a job, the most important job there was of protecting the President, his family, and the major members of the White House staff. But, old and gristled? No.

This was going to be interesting…

_**/**_

"_Livvie…Liv, please say something_…"

"Like what?"

"_I don't know. I mean, you said that we couldn't…and I didn't listen to you and I should've and…Liv, you're too calm and quiet. If you're going to kill me_…"

"If I did that, I'd have to kill myself, too. It takes two to tango and apparently, it also takes two to make softcore American heirloom defiling desk porn. And it's not so bad when you think about it. I mean, yeah, we were caught on official White House tapes but at least I had on my pretty bra and you don't have any hair on your ass."

His laughter was warm and loud, making her roll her eyes fondly as she spun slowly in her office chair.

"Stop.**_ Laughing!_**", she scolded, even as she shook with her own silent giggles.

"_I'm…I'm sorry…Olivia, seriously, I'm sorry. As much as I_…"

"…lust after me with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns?"

"…_yeah, that…Livvie, you trust me with your heart and your body. You should be able to trust me with your dignity, too and_…"

"Baby, it's okay."

"_It is?_"

"It truly is. Besides…I _**liked**_ it."

"_Oh, __**really?**_"

"Yes, _**really**_. I mean…it's the Oval Office and it's literally the seat of power for this country and the fact that you could just…take me there was really...so, when is Tom on shift again?", she inquired while idly twisting a strand of hair with her fingers.

"_Don't play with me, Olivia._"

"I'm not. I know better… and even though I have no intention of killing you today, I still expect a full debriefing on where the cameras are and aren't around our new home, Mr. President. Am I clear?"

"…_ma'am, yes, ma'am…and I will certainly __**debrief**__ you, later…and just what do you mean by today? Does that mean killing me is still on the drawing board?_"

"Good-bye, Fitzgerald.", she sing-songed innocently.

"_Wait_."

"What?"

"…_what are you wearing?_"

Olivia laughed and replied, "You are shameless. Goodbye. Go and end a war someplace."


	46. Chapter 46

**Author's Note: I don't care what the Academy says. Kerry Washington is the best actress in Primetime and one of the best in the business, both professionally and as a person. I was hoping she'd take the Emmy but it's okay that she didn't. In the words of a certain Admiral, she is the epitome of grace and class and I know that the Academy will see the gem she truly is once she starts taking Oscars and other accolades. They can go hang.**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**The Duties and Responsibilities of the First Lady pt. 1**

Cyrus tapped on the open doorway of her White House domain and she waved him in without looking up from her tablet, cellphone headset on and active. Olivia had hit the ground running as First Lady, already submitting her platform. She planned to focus on the Wounded Warrior Project and was going to expand her urban gardening program from NYC to every major city in the country. There was an interview and photoshoot with _**Essence Magazine**_ at the end of the week, as well as planned appearances on **Ellen**, **The View**, and at her request, **Jimmy Fallon**…

"…so, when should the clean up be done…okay, I'll let my people know and my clients as well…mm-hm…no, thank you…it's a beautiful building and it deserves to get some good use again…not to mention that I'll be able to see my house from what will be my office…thank you again, Nathan and I will meet with you to sign the papers on Friday? Is Friday good? Friday, it is…mm-hm…okay, goodbye. What brings you to my little sliver of the West Wing this morning, Cy?"

"You found a building for your firm?"

"I did. What do you need?", she inquired again, setting down her tools to give him her full attention.

"When's the move in date? Do you need some help?"

"Soon and probably not. Tell me what you need, Cyrus."

"It's about East Sudan."

Her body language shifted from warmth to ice and her face went carefully blank.

"Wrong Grant, Cyrus."

"Liv, his presidency is still in a fragile place and the situation there is starting to get out of hand."

"**Wrong. Grant. Cyrus.**"

"He doesn't want to take military action yet. He wants to find a diplomatic solution, which is admirable, really but…"

Quick as lightning, she was right in his face and while her face was still placid, her deep chocolate doe eyes were ablaze. The fire within them was more fitting for a man double her size and in fatigues. Instead, she was in a swishy knee length dress that was pale gray before turning into a bright tropical print and barefoot, 4 inch peach heels resting on her desk. She brushed an errant tendril of hair out of her face and Cyrus couldn't help but flinch a little as her hand went towards his cheek.

Instead of a slap, she cupped it very gently, sending confusion to war with the controlled fear in his mind.

"Cyrus…you do realize that I'm not the Grant that was elected, correct?", she asked him with very soft calm, putting him on full alert. Olivia's temper took a lot to provoke but when it was, it was like blowing a crate of TNT. Sometimes, she'd yell and while that was unpleasant, it was nothing like when she got quiet. When Liv got quiet, you were coming precariously close to crossing a line that you didn't want to cross…

"Yes."

"You also realize that the First Lady position is supposed to be ornamental, not functional, right?"

"Liv, you're not just a bauble or a show pony to parade around. You're…"

"I know who I am and I appreciate that you understand my overall value. _**However**_…"

Her fingertips pressed hard against his cheek before she stepped back, keeping their eyes locked as she put her hands on her hips.

"…you seem to be under the impression that I should be dictating foreign policy to my husband, your Commander in Chief despite the fact that he's already made a decision. You seem to be under the impression that I have the desire to undermine my husband's, your Commander in Chief's professional and political decisions. That impression is mistaken."

"Liv, I'm not asking you to undermine anything. I'm just asking you to talk to him."

"Bullshit. I know you better than you think. Fitz holds my opinion in very high regard. Fitz is also near obsessively attracted to me. You figured that you could wind me up, watch me go, and get what you and the war mongers want, namely a snap decision that would initially show American might but would end up causing yet another war in that region the long run. I'm not saying that you don't see me as an individual or respect me but you also see me as a trump card and Fitz as pussy-whipped enough to go along with whatever I want…or rather, whatever _**you **_want...which is absolute horseshit."

Cyrus blinked and looked away, unable deny her words and actually feeling a bit of shame…

"Liv, I…"

"I know. It's okay. Look, Fitz's decision could be wrong. It really could but even if I spoke to him, even if the whole Cabinet came up with an awesome PowerPoint rock opera to explain why it's wrong, he will not be pushed. You have to let him make his own decisions and you have to let him come to his own conclusions in his own way. Do not push him. Get some good accurate Intel and if East Sudan becomes a problem, then you need to be a supporting role in Handling it."

"Are you sure, Olivia?"

"Not only is he my husband, he also happens to be my best friend."

"So, what? You could be wrong."

"I could be. Fitz could be. I don't know. Right now, I know you are. **Do not** do this again. The politics are in his jurisdiction…"

"…unless he directly asks you for help.", he finished sheepishly.

" Exactly. It's always been like that. Both with politics and with OPGA. There are boundaries. There are lanes to stay in. Cyrus, stay in your lane or get ran the fuck off the road. Understood?"

"Perfectly."

"Wonderful."

Her cell phone rang and, she answered with her trademark curt, "What?", turning away from him. Knowing a dismissal when he saw it, Cyrus made his retreat, pulling the door shut behind him. While the conversation had not gone as he hoped, he had come away with good Intel on the dynamics between his President and his First Lady. They were staying consistent. On the one hand, it was a good thing. The Grant/Pope-Grant union was at the core of the Presidency and it was proven that a happy leader was a more effective one. The Public adored how they interacted, a normal young loving American couple who just happened to live in 1600 Penn.

On the other hand, it presented challenges. Olivia was still very apolitical and had no ambitions to get into a position of power. She had no need to get on the Hill or even behind the Resolute because at the end of the day, she held more power than any of them. She was a Crisis Manager. She knew secrets. She knew about every potential scandal there was. If she were so inclined, she could not only shuffle the deck but she could burn it, putting a whole new one on the table. Even her enemies respected that…

Most of all, she was in it all for Fitz. She wanted to protect Fitz. She wanted to nurture Fitz. She wanted to support Fitz and be his true, loyal partner. The idea of playing political games, the political games that Fitz had been surrounded by since before birth, hadn't even come into her heart.

Cyrus had expected it to and that was where he went wrong. He should've known better. Olivia Pope-Grant wasn't Mellie or a woman like her. She was herself and unrepentantly unconventional. The position and power of being FLOTUS would not change that.

He would act accordingly.


	47. Chapter 47

**Author's Note: Hey, everyone. I've been feeling kinda down for the last couple of days but I'm starting to come out of it now. I'm stoked because Criminal Minds is coming back on tonight (and that means Elementary and SCANDAL aren't too far behind) and I'm just…I want to write. So I shall!**

**PS: I know that the White House does not have an indoor pool anymore but for all intents and purposes for this chapter and this story, it does. **

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**The Duties and Responsibilities of the First Lady pt. 2**

"…_where is she?"_

"_Fitz, I don't think…"_

"_Right now, thinking is not a good idea for you. Your thinking caused you to go behind my back and try to use my wife to manipulate me. Olivia hates being pandered to and she **definitely** hates it when people try to turn her into a chess piece, especially if it's got something to do with politics. You should've known better. You _**_do _**_know better, which makes what you tried to do even shittier. Now, you can either tell me where she is or I can shove my fist down your throat before going to look for her myself. _**_Decide_**_."_

She was moving through the water at a fast clip, a snow white and milk chocolate blur under the pale blue surface. Gesturing for Tom and Kendra to remain near the door, Fitz stepped further into the pool area, removing his tie smoothly. The indoor pool was located near the West Wing between the Oval and the Rose Garden. It had been built in the latter part of the Clinton Administration and revamped during the Bush. The pool itself was Olympic sized and the subterranean room was designed to look like a natural grotto, a lot of greenery and along with stairs, there were flat rocks that could serve as seating. Bypassing all of that, he stretched out on the tile itself and propped himself up on his hands, patiently waiting for her to finish up.

Olivia had been captain of the swim team in high school and college. She kept up with it over the years, not just for the workout but for the peace that being underwater gave her. She once told him that it was like being in a shield, the noise and bullshit that life threw at her unable to get in. Fitz understood that perfectly and anything that kept his Livvie happy, healthy, and calm, he'd endorse 100%. Not to mention, the view of her soaking wet was always welcome in his eyes…in more ways than one.

She surfaced and propped an elbow on the tiles as she raised her goggles. Her hair was covered by a white cap and her one piece was clinging to her like a second skin. She put her goggles back in place and went back under smoothly, the water rippling as she followed the edge of the pool. Fitz shifted backwards as her hands came into view and she pulled herself out, quietly accepting the towel he offered. The cap came off and Fitz couldn't help but chuckle as her hair flared out like Simba's, a smile tugging at her lips at the sound. Her feet went into the water and she patted the space next to her in a 'come here' way. Smoothly, he obeyed and their eyes met for a long silent beat.

"Cyrus pissed me off.", she informed him matter of factly.

"I know. He told me what happened."

"Oh?"

"I guess he figured that I'd be less inclined to shove my signing pen through his eardrum if I heard it directly from him."

"So _violent, _President Grant…", she giggled with a slow shake of her head.

"I had a good teacher.", he replied crisply. "Want me to fire him?"

"**Yes!**"

He raised his brows and inclined his head significantly.

"…**_no._ **Look, I know that he's just trying to keep your Presidency afloat and East Sudan is a raging shitstorm waiting to happen but…I'm not a chess piece."

"You're not."

"And you've been manipulated enough to last 3 lifetimes, goddamn it!"

"I have."

"And…and we're not…and I'm not…and you're not..he can't just…and…you can…I…_**fuck**!_", she sputtered.

"You're angry because Cyrus tried to treat me like Big Jerry treated me and you're angry because even though it's been going on 10 years, he still doesn't understand how our relationship really works. He keeps trying to reduce it down to an extended version of infatuation and you're **_really_** angry at the fact that he thinks that you'd be willing to use your sex appeal as a political weapon…and that I'm just weak enough to fall for it.", he translated calmly.

She nodded wildly and her lower lip quivered before jutting out in a slight pout. Sitting up fully, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Uncaring about her damp state, Fitz drew her close to him and squeezed her gently, her scent blended with chlorine and sweat.

"It's not like that, Livvie. We're better than all that."

"I know, baby but I'm still pissed off."

"Want me to make it better?"

"How?"

"You need a shower, don't you?", he inquired impishly.

She blinked and then a slow, sultry smile curved her lips…

**_/_**

"They never trained us for this."

"For what? Oh, you mean guarding a door at 11:34AM while our Commander in Chief…"

Their brows went up in unison as a loud, keening moan sounded through the door, magnified by the acoustics of the locker room and shower stall. The moan was answered by a feline-esque purr that quickly turned into a loud male groan of bliss.

"…happily takes his wife in a very manly fashion?"

Before he could stop it, Tom chuckled and his partner turned her head to face him fully.

"Did you just chuckle while on duty, Stanton?"

"No.", he denied flatly.

"You **_did_**.", she insisted laughingly.

"It was a sneeze, Mendez."

"If that was a sneeze, then I'm a fiddler crab."

"Well, since it's fiddler crab season, I could shoot you."

"It's mongoose season, actually."

" I thought it was elk season…or is it dirty skunk season?"

"No, my friend…it's baseball season."

Both of them looked at each other and with a bemused shake of his head, Tom smiled and her small upper body victory dance made him chuckle again. Working with a partner again was interesting. For one thing, this was an actual partnership. His time with Oliver had basically been a rookie/veteran dynamic and while he had learned a lot from the man, being seen as an equal was refreshing. Kendra's work ethic was the same as his but she was a bit softer, a bit warmer, and apparently, they had the same sense of humor. That boded well for the future…

"Never trust a person who doesn't know their Looney Tunes.", she advised him sagely.

"Is that like never piss off the chef, the barber, the surgeon, and the mechanic?"

"Mm-hm…wow, they're really going at it, aren't they?"

"It's SOP for them. Scuttlebutt says that they're trying for another baby."

"You follow scuttlebutt?"

"There's always a ring of truth to it. The trick is finding it and keeping it to yourself long enough to use it as leverage."

"Noted.. oh, they stopped."

"They're not done yet."

"How do you know?"

"Trust me. They're not done yet."

"…Nat Geo President and his First Lady.", she mused fondly as the sounds of lovemaking started up again.

A full out laugh escaped him and her arms raised in victory.

**_/_**

"I think I'm gonna need a shower to recover from this one."

Her husband's laughter was deep and she slid the stall door open to let herself out. After Round 2, the door opened, bringing in a change of suit for Fitz and a reminder that he had a 1PM appointment on the Hill.

"I'd be more than happy to assist you with that."

"You need to go and run the country. You seriously need to go and run the country."

"I know."

Olivia raised her hair out of the way as he zipped up her dress slowly, his fingertips following the slope of her shoulder. Turning her head, she accepted his sweet kiss and walked out the door with him, returning to the hustle and bustle of the West Wing.

"It's likely that I'll be pulling an all nighter so don't wait up for me."

"23 people."

"Hmm?"

" There are 23 people who have to stay late if you do. "

"I didn't know that."

"Now you do. Try and avoid it if you can. I'll see you later.", she informed him when they came to a split in a corridor.

Fitz's arm dragged her back against him and she squeezed her eyes shut as the tip of his tongue boldly darted against her neck, causing her to giggle madly. This man…

"**_Off!_** Go and run the country, Fitzgerald!"

"I'm going, I'm going… love you!", he called cheerfully before finally returning to where he was supposed to be, Tom and Kendra in his wake.

Idiot. Her husband was an idiot. A beautifully flawed, sweetly intelligent idiot. Looking to her immediate right, she saw a Marine at parade rest trying not to smile or laugh.

"Well, at least he's my idiot, huh?"

"There **_is_** that, ma'am. Do you need an escort someplace?"

"No, thank you. I'll be fine. Oh, and…if you could keep what you just saw to yourself…"

"I saw nothing, ma'am. Nothing at all."

"Thank you."


	48. Chapter 48

**Author's Note: Well, I broke my self imposed vow of ignoring the leaks and peeks from the SCANDAL camp and now I've been hit straight in the core part of my Olitz feels. Already! Damn it! The latest sneak peek…if anyone still doubts that Fitz loves him some Liv, then it'll eliminate every single one of them in less than 30 seconds. It made me want to cry and hug him tight. It also annoyed the fuck out of me because of Olivia's dense and completely bloody obtuse reaction and her opening move in the Minesweeper game that was started in The Finale-That-Must-Not-Be-Named but…my interest is more peeked than ever. Is it Oct. 3****rd**** yet?**

**Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"**

**The Duties and Responsibilities of the First Lady pt. 3**

**4 Days Later…**

"This is… _awesome._"

Olivia couldn't help but smile at Quinn's breathless statement. Of all of them, she had remained the most whimsical and sometimes her enthusiasm had be dialed back. Today was not the day for that. Today was a day for it to be dialed all the way to 11 because Olivia Pope-Grant and Associates had a brand spanking new home in the Capital. What had started as an idea over dim sum had turned into a business, a regional powerhouse, a place for people to be helped...awesome was too weak a word to describe it.

"I'm looking forward to what the DC elite have got to offer. There's got to be some crazy juicy stuff falling out of their walk in closets…"

"And you will be judging each and every one of them loud and proud.", Harrison deadpanned with a waggle of his brows, stretched out in a leather recliner.

"Damn straight and don't act like you won't be in the peanut gallery with me!", Abby crowed while spinning in one of the conference room chairs.

"I'm not but we gotta keep things professional…at least while they can hear us."

Walking out and down the short corridor, Olivia stuck her head through the doorway of what may have been a storage closet. Huck was busy setting up the Hub, the half dozen computers that made up the Tech heart of OPGA. A wall of monitors were already wired and focused on the surveillance cameras outside, a few of them even showing a feed of the traffic cams to and from the White House. How he had gotten in there, she didn't want to know but she figured that he had his reasons…

She'd check on him later, make sure he got something to eat...

Her cell phone rang and she answered with her usual, "What?"

"_I need to see you now._ _It's important._"

"Fitz, what's going…?"

"_**Olivia.**_"

"…okay. I'll be there in 20, less if the traffic cooperates. Where should I meet you?"

"_There will be an escort for you. They'll bring you to us._"

The line went dead and she could feel her Gut begin to flutter. She had just talked to her parents that morning so she knew that they were okay. All of her Gladiators were accounted for and safe. Had something happened to Ger? Had something happened to one of his sisters or his mother? Or Big Jerry? No, he would've told her…whatever was going on wasn't about them as a couple but about them as President and First Lady of the United States. _**Us?**_ Us could mean anyone from Cyrus to the whole Cabinet…

Looking down at her black jeans and red ladybug print t-shirt, she jogged back to her office and started thumbing through the rolling rack of clothing near the far wall. Ripping the plastic off of a pair of dark gray slacks, she reached into the top drawer next to the rack and pulled out a black sleeveless top with a scalloped neckline. After kicking off her pumpkin orange converse, she pulled the pants on and slid into a pair of pale rose heels. The top went on and she clicked into the conference room, pulling on her snow white coat and black gloves, all eyes going to her immediately as she picked up her purse.

"Liv, what's wrong?", Abby asked.

"I don't know if anything's wrong at all but Fitz needs to see me yesterday. Keep unpacking and I'll be back as soon as I can."

Huck stopped her with a gentle hand to her forearm and simply said, "Be safe."

With a small smile and a nod to her Gladiators, she was on her way out.

_**/**_

The corridors were brightly lit and the walls were an industrial white. Her eyes moved between the floor and the heavily armed blue camouflaged escorts (Jenkins and Michaels) on either side of her and she could feel her heart in the back of her throat. Had there been a threat? Were they under attack? What was going on? Where were they going?

Jenkins swiped a key card and after the indicator flashed green, he pushed the door open. Stepping forward, she saw Sally, Billy, Cyrus, and Edison Davis sitting around a table, along with the Secretary of Defense, an NSA representative and the Heads of Homeland Security and the CIA. Fitz was sitting at the head of a rectangular table and she stepped in fully, the door shutting behind her heavily. The long room had industrial gray walls and a wall of monitors on the left. Removing her coat and gloves, she set them on one of the couches nearby and met her husband's gaze. Her inner turmoil was apparent because the cerulean slate orbs softened immediately, comforting and fortifying her all at once. Whatever was going on, they'd face it together…

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Come sit down."

She slid into the chair closest to him and finally asked the one question that had been bubbling since she hung up the phone.

"What is going on, Fitzgerald?"

_**/**_

"So, do we tell Ger or do we just grab him and run?"

"Grab him and run. We don't want to scare him."

"Like you scared me?"

"I'm sorry, Livvie."

"It's okay, baby. Come here."

She was sitting on the ledge of their bedroom window, her knees drawn up protectively. Hooking an arm under her knees, Fitz picked her up and sat down on their bed, her body curling close. He had been on the receiving end of some dubious looks when he called her into the briefing but she deserved to be as prepared as possible. In the event of a terrorist, nuclear, or chemical attack, the bunker they had been in was the first checkpoint for them to get to. From there, evacuation and strategic plans would be hammered out through the line of succession and with the panel. Olivia now had full clearance to enter and was to be read in on whatever crisis that prompted it.

She was to have a Providence key at all times.

There had been no protests after that declaration. Everyone in that room knew what she was capable of and even if she were not the First Lady, she would have a spot. Olivia was an asset of great value, her and her associates, and when the shit hits the fan, one wants sharp minds and sturdy emotions…

"I would've told you earlier if I could."

"I know and I'm not angry. Just a little rattled. I mean, I know that anything is possible and that this country has a laundry list of enemies that would like nothing more than to wipe us off the map but…being in that bunker, listening to all of those scenarios…it was like walking on my own grave. It made it…"

"Real."

"Yes."


End file.
